


Red and Blue

by sparklight



Category: Transformers (Dreamwave Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 54
Words: 31,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In here will be a bunch of drabbles and ficlets of various lengths, written over basically a few years but never posted anywhere.</p>
<p>Most of them are vaguely G1-ish canon, the rest are various sorts of AUs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Collar -1

"You're not usin' that." Cliffjumper's voice was flat, a hiss underscoring it as he grimaced up at Mirage. One small gray hand was also sliding along the bottom end of the leash, towards the catch that locked it to the collar. Mirage narrowed his optics and acted quickly, the slender switch swooping through the air and landing with a crackling snap on the back of Cliffjumper's hand.

" _Fraggin' pit_!" Cliffjumper snapped his hand back and rubbed it with his other hand as he took a step back and then the leash was taut, "what the frag is _wrong with you_? You ain't using a blasted _fox-hunting crop_ on me, ya glitch!" Cliffjumper glared up at him and Mirage stared back, a quirk to the upper edge of his right optic.

"It's not going to hurt you, you _know that_." He tapped the end of the crop against his cheek, feeling the static buzz of it against pliable metal, and he twitched his lips into a faint smile as Cliffjumper followed the motion. There was a reason for using _this_ tool compared to other toys, even if there were toys constructed with the same goal in mind, especially since the point was the _charge_ the crop carried, not the pain it could inflict.

Neither of them were really interested in the latter, after all.

"I don't fraggin' _care_ , you aft! It's a _fox-huntin'_ \---Ghhh!" the would-be rant cut off into garbled nonsense as Mirage struck again, the flexible rod going down and snapping against Cliffjumper's bared hip joint. Cliffjumper twitched with it, optics flickering and then his hand was back against the bottom end of the leash again, clutching around it - and his engine was revving. 

Cliffjumper could be so _difficult_ sometimes.

Closing the gap between them with a grin, Mirage tapped Cliffjumper's chinguard, unwrapped the small hand from the leash, and turned the minibot around. He prodded Cliffjumper forward with the crackling end of the crop pressed against the flat angle between Cliffjumper's legs, not quite high up enough to be his aft.

Cliffjumper hissed, trembled... and went, ending up pressed up against the wall before Mirage withdrew the crop. Staring at the red mini standing face-first against the wall, fists digging into it but _not moving_ , Mirage grinned and gently nudged Cliffjumper's feet further apart and out from the wall.

"Don't fraggin' _push i_ \---" the nearly rumbling growl fell apart into a static squeak as Mirage snapped the crop against one of those delightfully bare hip joints again.

Later, with the leash wrapped around his hand and pulled short to keep Cliffjumper still, Mirage was far too busy with the charge singing through his wiring and systems to think of Cliffjumper being _difficult_. Not that his hand holding the leash taut was really _necessary_ , but he liked the look of the collar stretching with the short give as Cliffjumper strained backwards against it, both out of near-subconscious obstinacy and because he needed space to _move_. 

But yes, Mirage was definitely far too busy to think of Cliffjumper's stubbornness at the moment. Especially with a spike snapping in and out of his valve, with brief little grinding hitches in-between. Tilting his hips up and tightening his grip on the leash at the same time, Mirage met the thrusts with equal force. Cliffjumper might be rather straightforward on _this end_ , but the rather relentless _focus_ bestowed on him more than made up for it. As well as the fact that to fit their equipment together properly, his valve had to contract, bunching up all the sensors...

Shuddering, Mirage groaned and rolled his hips, trapping Cliffjumper inside momentarily as his valve _clutched_. Cliffjumper's vents caught and instead of fighting to withdraw, he ground _into and against_ the valve, friction going into pressure sparking charge that flooded their circuits.

The overload balanced, but didn't tip over. Mirage rubbed the leash in his hand with a smile, a smile Cliffjumper briefly met and then he ducked his helm, flustered and annoyed. 

Yes, Mirage might prefer the mini on the other end, feeling that slightly-too-small to properly accommodate him valve stretch around his spike, and Cliffjumper might be utterly _infuriating_ sometimes, because he fought Mirage on nearly _everything_ but in the end he had, after all, chosen to let Mirage - and not someone else - put that collar on him.


	2. Collar 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next one of the BDSM-related ficlets, but it's either before the first one or simply in the same flavour, I've never figured out which, since this would basically be the "first time" things work out.

Cliffjumper was stubborn to a fault. Sometimes it got him in trouble (maybe more than "sometimes"...), other times it meant he dug his wheels in and kept to an opinion or issue until the end of things. Which could mean he might end up sticking to something that might not work out, and Mirage was unsure which he'd prefer right now. The minibot had been... uncomfortable, to say the least, when he first found out about one aspect of Mirage's sexual preferences. 

Uncomfortable, and then accusing, then confused and still uncomfortable... And then he'd announced, glaring at the floor, that if Mirage wanted to, they could try. 

It was... endearing, to have been confronted with that. 

Mirage did not _need_ to be dominant to enjoy his relationships - which, to be honest, was probably a good thing, given how things had gone since the war started. But it was, nonetheless, something he _did_ enjoy.

Of course, the first few attempts had gone neither well nor smoothly. Cliffjumper seemed simply unable to _relax_. It wasn't very surprising, really, which had had him suggest they put it aside; it'd hardly kill him. He'd been treated to the fierce, narrow glare of his minibot thoroughly annoyed (not "offended", never that), and said they should try some more. Stubborn, as always. Which had led to this.

"It'll open automatically after three breems, Cliffjumper. Consider it an aid. A reminder that as long as it's on, you don't have to do _anything_ other than trust me to look after you." Patience kept Mirage's voice soft enough the amusement wasn't obvious, which was a good thing, since otherwise he might have been punched.

"Isn't that _cheatin'_ , though?" Cliffjumper was staring at the collar in Mirage's hand as if it would start moving by itself and nip the edge of his nasal ridge or something, which was the reason for Mirage's amusement. But the genuine uncertainty beneath that needed to be soothed; it wouldn't do for Cliffjumper to accept on pure stubbornness. 

"Not really. Some need the assistance, a physical anchor of some sort during scenes. Nothing unusual with that, and doesn't really imply suitability or lack thereof to the activities in general." Mirage shook his helm and turned the collar over in his hands; it was thin, made of braided metal in a bright blue. 

He'd used it before. 

In fact, he'd first been given it to help him do what Cliffjumper was _trying _to do for him. For Mirage, it'd been a necessity to be able to understand the other side, and he'd kept it since, had others wear it _for him_. That the blue matched his own might have something to do with it.__

__"... And that's it?" Cliffjumper frowned, and still hadn't taken a single step closer since Mirage had pulled out the collar. If the mini agreed, Mirage would be both pleased - enough he'd had to be careful how much slipped through - and disappointed, because it would obscure Cliffjumper's throat. Well, one couldn't have everything._ _

__"That's all. It's completely non-reactive. Three breems, and if this doesn't work, I want you to stop trying, all right? I will not extinguish from not indulging in this." His optics narrowed a little when Cliffjumper opened his mouth to argue, and then snapped it closed when he noticed Mirage's expression._ _

__Sometimes, Cliffjumper knew when not to push, and other times, he didn't. It was the fact that the former did happen and that it usually at least _seemed_ to be connected to when Mirage really _was_ putting his foot down that Mirage believed Cliffjumper _could_ , possibly, end up not just capable of submitting, but liking it._ _

__There were harsher methods than a non-reactive collar, but Mirage found them varying shades of crude, or just outright unethical. The worst, arguably, was something similar to slave programming, but involved 'breaking in' of the submissive by the dominant... he'd seen it used, and it was _quite reprehensible_._ _

__"Okay." Cliffjumper shifted on his feet, glanced at the collar, up at him, to the _door _, and Mirage stayed still. He was rewarded a few moments later by the mini shuffling forward hesitantly, the tense, almost angry expression hiding nervousness.___ _

____Sometimes Cliffjumper was too stubborn for his own good, but Mirage couldn't quite find it in himself to put his foot down yet. He was not unselfish enough to _not_ want and to _not go through with this, not when Cliffjumper had offered.__ _ _ _

_____Leaning forward, well-aware of those bright, wide optics, Mirage locked the collar in place and brushed his lips over the top of Cliffjumper's helm, one finger tracing the blue metal. Cliffjumper nearly _vibrated_ where he stood but as the seconds turned into a klik, he didn't shift or squirm or say anything._ _ _ _ _

_____After another klik, Mirage stepped back and Cliffjumper frowned._ _ _ _ _

_____He just didn't _get it_. _ _ _ _ _

_____What was the _point_? _ _ _ _ _

_____The collar was surprisingly heavy, nestled against his throat as a smooth, weighted reminder that... Well, Cliffjumper _really_ wanted to question what the slag they were doing or... _something_ , but the collar worked surprisingly well. _ _ _ _ _

_____Three breems._ _ _ _ _

_____Two and nearly half by now, though, as Mirage went to sit on the edge of the berth, looking over him with dim, golden optics that seemed to somehow burn. The glow was intense enough to make him drop his own optics away from Mirage's and a completely unreadable expression flashed over Mirage's faceplates - well, to Cliffjumper at least._ _ _ _ _

_____"Come here, Cliffjumper." Mirage held a hand out, and the tone was familiar from the few other times they'd tried this, tugging at something deep within his spark chamber cavity that _really _made him want to storm out of the room and go hide - or kick Mirage for having revealed this at all, made him _think_ because _slag_ this was just...___ _ _ _ _

_______He didn't do any of that, though._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______He didn't even just stand still, like the last two times._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______The collar was heavy, but reminded him in a way of the time limit that the verbal agreement of 'one breem only' the last few times hadn't, and the fact that... well, Mirage wasn't going to hurt him. So this time, he went. Stopped right beyond where he could feel the slow, heavy swirl of Mirage's EM field and almost considered running out of here again._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______This made him feel odd, not questioning or protesting and just---_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"Sit down." Mirage's voice curled heavy like the collar, and he caught the gesture of the black hand to the floor, not beside Mirage on the berth, and while he grimaced, he did as told. He did cross his arms a bit jerkily though, and the tension slithered across his frame._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______But all that happened was that Mirage's hand landed on his helm, and stayed there, heavy and warm and with a bit of a tingle where their fields meshed. After another two kliks, Mirage began to stroke._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______At any other point, this would have made him annoyed and antsy. Too slow, too indistinct and seemingly without purpose. Now, however, with Mirage having told him to sit, and the collar reminding him of the time left, Cliffjumper sat._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______At some other point, with someone else, Mirage would have said something about the frame relaxing and leaning against his leg - it hadn't been given yet, after all. But for this, and now, he let it slide, and instead felt a slow smile curl along his mouth as Cliffjumper relaxed and _accepted_ what was going on._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______The last bit of the three breems went by too quickly; he did enjoy simply having the explicit acceptance of his attentions, as and how he decided to give them, without any attempts at _influencing it_... And the fact that it was Cliffjumper made something selfish and pleased stretch out. But besides that, the mini looked very beautiful as he relaxed into it, and apparently the collar _did_ help._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"... Cliffjumper."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"Huh?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Enough so that when it was over, he actually had to tap Cliffjumper on the shoulder, and it wasn't before he'd helped the mini up on the berth beside him until Cliffjumper seemed to understand what had happened._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______He trembled and then immediately tensed up, and Mirage swooped in, tugging Cliffjumper to himself and kissed him, murmuring things he hoped would assuage the self-recrimination he could easily see was going on._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Because now that Cliffjumper had realised he was capable of letting someone take the decisions in such a way, he got upset over that fact. Mirage hoped he could convince him there was nothing wrong with it... he did want to try again._ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Collar 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third. A bit of punishment is due.

"Finish the reroute, Cliffjumper. Two breems." Mirage was implacable and Cliffjumper felt frustration bubble up, his field bristling, because what the _slag_ it had only been one breem just before... before he'd stopped turning off sensory nodes and rerouted his sensornet to the horns.

Hands tightening, one in a fist, the other grasped around the wrist of the fisted hand, Cliffjumper wanted to protest, to shout at the slagger and just defend himself. So he'd taken a bit of an unnecessary risk. 

So _what_? 

... So it hadn't been necessary and if he'd let Bluestreak do his job, it'd have been done just as well. So it meant he'd actually ignored what Mirage told him the night before, saying that he should, for once, not do something unnecessary, not overreact and just generally _stick to the plan as it was_.

Which he'd ignored.

So when they got back here after everybody had been cleared of injuries, Mirage practically dragging him by his EM field the way it'd been concentrated backwards, hooking into his own with sharp, static jangling and _pulling_ , he'd not had the chance to so much as flail at the noble in defence as the collar was snapped on and he'd been told in no uncertain terms to kneel, turn off his normal sensory grid and reroute the net into his sensory horns. One breem.

And then he'd protested, at first unable to remember _what the slag gave Mirage the right_ , and then actually did remember. Which had just made him more annoyed, and he'd stopped right what he was doing. 

And then one breem turned into two.

Gritting his teeth, barely keeping the snarl in and not expressed on any wavelength at all, Cliffjumper glared down at the floor as he slowly turned off tactile, pressure, temperature, visual, gyros and even his audials. He paused, EM field spitting out in uneven little flares at the sensory-deprived _void_ he suddenly found himself in. 

Despite the _lack_ , vertigo-inducing as it was, Cliffjumper didn't really want to finish the reroute. But that was what a punishment was for, wasn't it? Hopefully the pause hadn't been long enough to incur and even _longer_ one, and he finished, reality snapping back with a smooth, confusing _entirety_.

The thing with rerouting everything through his sensory horns instead of the separate sensory nodes to create the net was that when everything was forced through two single points - which his horns were capable of, as he could focus any one particular sense through his horns in altmode, but it was usually the visual - they got tangled up, an impossible, circuit-jangling _mess_ of a whole. It made him up the sensitivity to help him separate out the various sensory inputs, which just laid maddening charge because well. He just made them _sensitive_.

"Good. I hope you realise what you're being punished for, Cliffjumper," Mirage said, quietly and not nearly as harshly as the earlier reprimand. Probably just as well, because like _this_ , Mirage's voice wasn't just a pitch and tone, but a pressure as it hit his horns, the particular wavelengths registering some heat and with the heat came a sensation of colour---

There was no use in squirming, because the rest of his frame wasn't _feeling anything_ it was all like an implacable, unending squeeze on his horns and then the charge _inside_. Cliffjumper wasn't aware of it besides in the internal workings registering the movement, but his optics were wide. 

It took him a few tries to actually say something.

"Yes, _frag it all_ \---" Stop. That had scraped like someone had flicked his circuits on the inside. Sludge-sucking oil-dripping, rusty turbofox--! "Rrrr. Yes. 'Cause I... didn't... nnnh, do as... ya said." This was torture and he didn't _really_ think the offense was severe enough to warrant _this_ , but the collar was heavy around his throat even if he couldn't _feel it_. 

He knew it was there.

"Exactly. One breem and a klik left." Mirage, then, blessedly fell quiet, and he also mostly _stood still_ , but there was air conditioning in the room, his own and Mirage's EM fields both, and their frames working and it wasn't _fair_.

Afterwards, Mirage carefully held him - everything still rerouted - through a number of overloads Cliffjumper couldn't really count.


	4. Glitch 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aand here comes the first of two heat fics I did.
> 
> We all need at least one, right?

It's a glitch, Ratchet had said. You've got two options, he'd said. Grumbling, Cliffjumper stomped down the corridor and thought there ought to have been a _third_ option and the slagging chop-shop party ambulance was _surely_ just _lazy_ in not offering to fix it manually. 

But no, instead he'd just said that anyone affected could either let it burn out on its own - and don't drink any but the barest amount of energon for a day, _or_ find a partner and... er, _work it off_.

Cliffjumper, feeling awkward, embarrassed and generally angry as energy flooded overkeyed sensor nodes and flushed his sensory net and circuits with charge and pleasure, was intent on getting to an empty room and settle down because _like slag_ was he going to do anything _like this_ \---

But he was running low, and he _had_ to refuel at least a little.

Which now led to this; standing outside the rec. room and squirming as he tried to convince himself to go in. If _anybody_ so much as _tittered_ he'd punch their lights out. Gritting his teeth, Cliffjumper stomped inside, helm down, and very determinedly not looking at _anything_ \---

"... do hope they're all right. Dreadfully... er. _Awkward_ thing to have happened. Unfortunate." The annoyingly accented voice drifted on a smooth hum of its own pitch, and Cliffjumper swallowed emptily. 

He was not...

Several unwelcome images unhelpfully flashed through his processor, and Cliffjumper's engine ran away from him and _frag it all_ he'd already made a fool of himself.

Jerkily, he whirled around, stalked up to where Mirage, Tracks and Hound were sitting, literally climbed up on Mirage's lap and needlessly yanked him down so he could sit down and (grind) squirm in place because he was fragging _uncomfortable_ , yeah, that was it, while hissing into Mirage's audials.

"You've got three choices, Mirage. One, I drag you into the next supply closet and ride you. Two, and if you let me do this I _will kill you_ , I'll ride you right in here. Three, get me somewhere better and ya get to choose---" The snarl died in embarrassed sputtering static, but every single word he'd said had flooded his circuits with more charge, and he was _astroseconds_ away from opening slagging near _everything_ and if that happened he'd _die of shame_ while still wriggling on Mirage's lap---

The noble stood up, his shocked expression having fallen away to something a bit more useful, and stalked out.

While carrying Cliffjumper.


	5. Glitch 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second one, now Mirage's turn. We need to be egalitarian, after all.

Mirage couldn't say he _minded_ the slow, pleasant burn of charge over his circuits - at least for now, it'd build after all - but it annoyed him that there was no way to _control it_. He wasn't so _base_ as to give in to a glitch--- Except he absolutely was, which was thoroughly upsetting.

But he'd soothe his offended ego and upbringing later. At the moment he had more important concerns. Concerns that involved a tiny minibot roaming free where people could _see_ and _touch_ \--- 

His engine roared and his hands tightened into fists at the thought, startling Smokescreen and Bluestreak who he passed. Startled them more because he was presently invisible, but he was too busy to stop and apologise. Besides, if he stopped, his embarrassingly-addled processor might decide _they_ might have touched what was _his_ and he didn't need to add brig time while he was _burning up_...

"Frag _off_. You ain't even _remotely_ funny."

And there his quarry was! 

Mirage's optics narrowed, the bright golden glow dulling into burning amber as he slowed. Cornered by the twins. He bared his teeth without even thinking on it, especially when Sideswipe's hand landed against the wall by Cliffjumper's helm.

Oh, they wouldn't _dare_ to take so much as another step closer...

"Oh, come on, it _totally_ is, so let's just..." Sideswipe trailed off, gesturing expansively with his hand, but Cliffjumper just crossed his arms over his chestplates and glared up at the two, the glare turning into a little engine snarl at Sunstreaker's smirk.

Mirage slid forward another two steps and reached out, and if they _didn't back off_ and stop being all up against Cliffjumper's field with their own he'd make sure they couldn't extend their fields beyond a hand span for a decacyle at the _least_...

(Mirage was, distantly, both aware of and embarrassed over the monstrous possessiveness the heat glitch had let loose. He was usually perfectly capable of keeping it under control and a lot more... graceful, but right now, propped up by noble sensibilities of guarding what was _his_ as well as his own... ah, _inclinations_ , it was raw. And sort of - shamefully and embarrassingly - thrilling.)

"I ain't goin' anywhere! Do I look fraggin' _stupid_ to you!?" Cliffjumper hissed and slapped Sideswipe's hand away, and while the twins huffed and Sunstreaker briefly leaned in, they both suddenly froze - Mirage was now basically standing right behind them, and Cliffjumper was looking past the twins with a frown, wary. 

"... Fine." And then they _left_ and Mirage knew he should be thankful since that meant no brig time, but at the same time he _wanted to_ \--- He flexed his field, and Cliffjumper glared, looking wary and uncomfortable both as he looked around.

Well now, _that_ wouldn't do...

"Hello there." 

There was nothing graceful about the tackle, but the clatter as they fell to the floor was sort of gratifying, as was Cliffjumper's surprised yell and reflexive struggling, but he stopped when his arms were up over his head, looking torn between annoyed and concerned.

"What the _slag_? Ratchet said you got hit with that... uh, glitch, but I didn't think that meant you'd b---" 

Too much talking. 

Mirage frowned and then simply interrupted it by kissing, determined to wash off even the lingering vibrations of the words Cliffjumper might have said to the twins. He curled his chassis above Cliffjumper's, pleased he could cover the whole of it without trying; when he was done, there wouldn't be even the _faintest_ of sting of their fields left...

::MIRAGE WHAT THE FRAG!?::

::Shh.::


	6. Height

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper has a thing for taller mechs, but that doesn't mean he has a crush on EVERYBODY on the Ark, of course. Doesn't mean he's any more pleased with the one he DOES have a crush on, however.

Cliffjumper and Bumblebee had at least _one_ thing in common besides being minibots. It wasn't a thing Cliffjumper would admit to out loud at all, and not _just_ because it usually got you sniggers and rude comments from other minibots... he just didn't think it was anyone else's business, really.

And he didn't like admitting to what he found... sexy, either.

Such as the fact that Optimus' hands were large enough to make his engine skip, especially when he clasped either his own or Bumblebee's shoulder for one thing or another - and maybe he'd made a crude little comment once about _perfect height_ to Bumblebee, but 'Bee knew what he meant and he'd felt embarrassed enough he'd almost choked on his energon right after, he'd tried to swallow it so fast, while 'Bee laughed right into his own energon.

The Prime was more of a hero worship crush than viable _anything_ for Cliffjumper, so even if Bumblebee had commented he probably wouldn't _mind_ being approached. Cliffjumper couldn't see it.

Besides, Cliffjumper also knew the Prime had a particular few mechs he turned to, 'Bee among those, and that... didn't seem right to poke in on. So he didn't, even if he'd had the... courage... to do so.

And anyway, _Prime_ wasn't the only one he found... attractive on the Ark crew. 

Sure, by size alone he could pick almost _anyone_ and if that was all that was needed, he'd have his cooling fans running all the time, but _height alone_ wasn't enough to do anything. 

Primus forbid otherwise because while Sunstreaker, for example, was _pretty_ the mech was a disgusting narcissist and sort of sociopathic and frankly _dangerous_ , and Sideswipe... well, he was okay? 

But way too close to Sunstreaker what with being his twin and he wouldn't touch Tracks with a mile long pole either because he was almost as vain as Sunstreaker and he was a noble and that was just _annoying_ \--- And what was annoying, too, was the fact that there was one other noble on the crew, and that fact alone should have him fleeing in the other direction and _why it wasn't_ he just couldn't understand.

It made him rather angry, actually, and that meant sitting tense in his seat, grumpily emptying his cube while stealing glances like a fragging protoform. 

It was _stupid_ and _pathetic_ , but... But he just couldn't _not_ look at the tall, slender Towers noble that wasn't tall enough to be twice his height but that didn't matter... 

Because what was there was plenty enough and he always _moved_ as if he was much taller, the space that should be afforded him more than he strictly _needed_ , hands longer, more slender than, say, Optimus' was, but that length meant he covered the sides of a cube in a different way and it _always_ got his slagging processor running about what _else_ they could cover---

"I'm goin' to the range. Talk to ya later, 'Bee," spat Cliffjumper, slamming down his cube hard enough to disperse the containment field, leaving a fine spatter of energon dregs on the table because he hadn't _quite_ emptied it before he put it down. 

He fled the rec. room, determinedly glaring at the floor and _absolutely not_ painfully aware of Mirage sprawled out on a bench up against the wall, long legs stretched out and taking up enough space it ought to be a fragging _crime_ \--- the door slid quietly closed behind him.


	7. Half a Joor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage challenges Cliffjumper, and the minibot foolishly takes it.

Mirage could be cruelly unrelenting when he put his mind to it, and perhaps he should feel some remorse over that, despite that it had helped him quite a few times before the war. Both the Towers and the greater noble circles of cybertronian society could be quite vicious after all, but then, help was help and it's certainly come in handy after the war had started as well.

Of course, right now this unbending drive and determination - similar to Cliffjumper's stubbornness, though different, which was one of the reasons he'd come to like the minibot - wasn't used in the service of pursuing the success of a vital mission or similar... Rather, it was about driving Cliffjumper _completely spare_.

He was, if he could say so himself and with a quiet smirk around the horn in his mouth, succeeding quite well. Tonguing the horn and feeling the sensitised, charged metal and nodes spit static back at him, Mirage cast a glance downwards, pleased at what he was seeing.

One hand was around Cliffjumper's spike and his thumb teasing the rim of the housing while the rest stroked along the filaments, playing along them like some bizarre instrument and making Cliffjumper do most of the thrusting at the moment. 

Of course, Cliffjumper couldn't quite decide _in which direction_ he should thrust and squirm and swear, because Mirage's other hand was playing in and around the valve, faintly charged metal vaguely imitating a charged spike as Mirage varied the amount of fingers he attempted to push in, thumb pinching at the rim. 

And then there was, of course, his mouth around one or the other of Cliffjumper's horns, which at this stage alone would bring the poor thing to overload easily enough. 

Cliffjumper was clawing as much at the berth as at him, optics dim and unfocused though aimed reasonably in the direction of Mirage's faceplates... when he wasn't shaking his helm and trying to toss it backwards, away and then back into Mirage's mouth... not that he'd actually let Cliffjumper _get away_ from the tongue or teeth scraping along the edges.

Cliffjumper was nearly curled up completely in his arms, metal hot and vents working to whining, twisting and grinding nearly unconsciously and it'd probably be a _kindness_ to stop now, to _not_ force him into overworked lockdown from being too hot, with too little energy to use and sensory net closing down... But Cliffjumper had, optics narrowed and with a suspicious twist to his mouth, agreed to his proposition.

"Half a joor to give you enough overloads to shut you down."

Cliffjumper, the poor, unsuspecting fool, hadn't thought he could do it, and the only thing Mirage missed right now was a third pair of hands... or _something_ to be able to brush the flares of energy from that lovely, bright spark. But Cliffjumper had (literally) put his foot down and said he couldn't use toys.

Maybe next time, then, Mirage thought idly as he hummed against a horn, gave a sudden, full squeeze to the graceful, mod-less spike in his hand and snapped his two longest fingers full inside the valve, thumb and the finger next to last pressing at the rim, partly forcing the cover out to nip at his fingers.

Cliffjumper's long, broken swear-filled harangue broke down into airy, incomprehensible static as yet an overload crashed down, his spark flared-- and then, finally, in the middle of that curious, twisting little flutter Cliffjumper's valve was capable of without his concious input and without a mod to direct the delicate workings to do it, the minibot's processor and frame had had enough, and shut down.

Smirking softly and managing to keep his self-satisfied chuckles to himself, even if Cliffjumper couldn't hear him, Mirage sat up, arranged Cliffjumper in the best way to let his frame have the most cool air to assist cooling down, and brushed the fingers of the hand that had been at and in his valve along his lips, feeling lingering static and the charge-taste and burn from multiple overloads. 

He didn't need to glance at his internal chronometer to know he had two and a half breem left of his half-joor, and that Cliffjumper's overload had numbered... impressively many. For a minibot, he had stamina.

Looking down and catching the briefly set expression before Cliffjumper relaxed again, Mirage chuckled and stroked a hand above the now-closed plating of his chest. Or he was just foolishly stubborn.


	8. Rifle Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper picks up a sniper rifle, Mirage... teaches him.

"No, like this..." Mirage's arms stretched out around him and to the sides to reach what he wanted to adjust, and Cliffjumper _was_ paying attention, _really_ , but it was hard to focus with Mirage's finely tuned engine humming away right against his back kibble, the heat of waste air washing over the back of his neck and shoulders as they were both bent over the sniper rifle.

It was large and a bit cumbersome, especially given that it was supposed to be _Cliffjumper's_ new weapon; had it been for someone the height of Bluestreak or Mirage, it would still have been large, but more powerfully effective. With the minibot, it was a fair shade more... silly, but then, most people didn't think it "silly" when he was wielding his cannon.

"I _know_ it's just..." 

"Just _what_? You need to be able to work through distractions such as the battlefield while not being _part of it_." Mirage leaned in a bit closer, thighs tightening a little against his sides as the noble kept himself in place, and Cliffjumper gritted his teeth, glared at the target and squeezed off a shot. 

The rifle hummed against him, the recoil smooth and deceptively powerful - even _with_ the size of it. It was quiet and precise, however, and despite the size, the bolt of plasma hit dead center... and burned through the majority of the thick target.

Mirage hummed, his engine revving and then flipped Cliffjumper around. The tiny smile when Cliffjumper stared up at him with a half-annoyed, half-surprised expression was soon hidden by tilting Cliffjumper's chin up and kissing him. At least _that_ wiped away the annoyance.


	9. A Dance for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper learns to dance for Mirage.

The song that followed the very contemporary Earth rock wasn't just genre-different, it was _planetary_ -different. It wasn't even, really, the sort of musical piece that would have been found in places regular cybertronians gathered, but while some of the gathered mechs frowned and shifted, they still paused. Paid attention, because really, in a way they didn't have much of Cybertron present here on the Ark, so any little bit was worth at least considering in a way it might not have been before.

Mirage had gone very, very still as the first chords were struck, and it took Cliffjumper being given a wordless, jangling ping from Jazz to get him moving. Mirage didn't even _notice_ Cliffjumper coming up at first, optics soft and dim, but then his expression sharpened into aloof politeness when he (too late) realised the minibot was standing in front of him.

"... want to dance?" It was muttered, nearly hidden under the music, and Cliffjumper was staring, glaring really, at a spot somewhere around Mirage's knees. The noble let out a long, slow vent, hardly even lukewarm and despite the music tugging on his thoughts, felt a small smile tug on his lips as well.

"I appreciate the... thought, Cliffjumper, but there's some specific---"

"I _know_ , okay?" Cliffjumper snapped, glaring up at Mirage before he reigned in his agitation. Agitation which, Mirage quickly realised, was embarrassment and probably a dollop of shyness as well, even if Cliffjumper would deny the last.

"I had Jazz show me. So. You wanna?"

Briefly, Mirage was frozen by that statement, optics narrowing as his gaze snapped over to Jazz where he and Blaster were responsible for the music. He could just _imagine_ the scene as well, Jazz's hands guiding the minibot through the motions to settle the information he'd undoubtedly gotten from whatever chip Jazz had on ballroom etiquette and dancing, perhaps getting a _bit too_ heavy and close--

Jazz grinned at him, open and perhaps with a bit of a smirk, and waved his hand pointing it downward. Mirage looked down reflexively, and realised he'd been quiet for... nearly too long.

"I'd love to."


	10. Courting - The Human Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Daniel makes a mistaken assumption, Mirage is all too happily amused to run with it. Cliffjumper is displeased.

"Mirage... _stop it_!" Cliffjumper hissed, both literally, figuratively and mechanically even as he plopped down in the chair, well-aware that the reason for Mirage pulling the chair out with a particularly obnoxious human-style gentlemanly flair was sitting on the other side of the room with Prime and Bumblebee.

"I have to be polite, don't I? It'd be _very rude_ to treat you with any less respect and care than you deserve..." With that, Mirage presented a few carefully twisted-metal flowers - rose replicas to be exact, and Cliffjumper was going to _kill_ the twins, and Ironhide, and _anyone else_ who was laughing and _where had Mirage gotten these_ on such short notice, anyway!?

He took them, however, and threw a white-edged molten glare at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

"I still don't see why he didn't think _you_ was the girl. He's a human kid, you're slender like they usually are shown to be," said Cliffjumper grumpily, (even as he made sure the metal flowers didn't fall off the table) and gave Mirage a pinched stare as he came back with two cubes, putting them down before he snagged one of Cliffjumper's hands and pressed his lips to the back of it.

"Obviously he took more impression by the fact that you were short. And cute."

Sputtering, Cliffjumper yanked his hand back and was glad he was sitting so no one else - especially those stupid twins - could see the bright flare from his optics from embarrassment. 

He wasn't even sure if Mirage was on one of his overdramatic courting stints that he seemed to be struck by every now and then, just using human methods this time, or (or maybe "and") just poking gentle fun and at the same time using three year old Daniel pointing at them as the Witwicky family came to visit and loudly wondering if Cliffjumper was a "girl" because they'd been surprised when Mirage had just pulled the minibot into his lap.


	11. After a Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage gets the benefits of catching his "turbofox".

Engine thrumming with tired determination and undeniable (but he was definitely trying to deny it) need, Cliffjumper snarled and tried to buck. It only resulted in a weird wiggle-jerk and a twinned groan.

"Let _go_ , you--ghn." His optics grew wide as the two fingers were shoved in, and he hissed around them as he met Mirage's smirk.

"The hunter chooses when the prey goes free," Mirage purred, his other hand tightening around Cliffjumper's wrists, leaning down and teasing the stretched lower lip with his thumb, the threat of pushing _that_ digit in as well silent but there.

The fact that he wasn't getting bitten - the teeth were grinding against his fingers, but that was all - didn't really break the illusion Cliffjumper's bowed back and arched frame and fierce expression and occasional, determined struggles were helping to weave.

Not when Cliffjumper really _couldn't_ get his legs from where they were folded under his thighs, the way Mirage's knees were pressing against the sides of them and his aft up... and Mirage's spike continually snapping out and in, never quite far enough to let Cliffjumper wriggle _away_.

A small tongue, lightly charged from friction and oral lubricants both teased against his fingers before the mini suddenly bit. Not deep, not as hard as he _could have_ , but it slammed right down into Mirage's interface and up into his spark chamber anyway, and the next thrust in caught Cliffjumper on a thrumming groan as his frame clamped down.

Getting to play with his turbofox after catching it was _almost_ as fun as driving Cliffjumper into near exhaustion, making him still able to struggle, frustrated against his own limits, but not more than that.


	12. Battlefield Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper gets in trouble on the battlefield, Mirage makes sure the situation doesn't get worse. Cliffjumper is, once again, NOT AMUSED.

Mirage kept a meticulous awareness of Cliffjumper's presence and position on the battlefield at all times. 

Sure, he needed to do this for _anyone_ on the battlefield of course, otherwise it'd be hard to operate as a sniper, but the minibot was individually noted and taken account for. That was the only reason he noticed when Cliffjumper dropped - he missed the preceding struggle of a Decepticon reaching the minibot and grabbing him. The mech fell with Cliffjumper, helm blown off, but the minibot wouldn't be able to transform the way his leg had been mangled.

Or move easily at all, and just a breem earlier the front line had flowed _backwards_ from Cliffjumper's position, and he'd been in the process of working himself back behind Autobot lines again when he got jumped.

Mirage swore as Cliffjumper got decidedly _stuck_ , sent the information and coordinates off to Prowl and shifted his position a bit. Through the scope, he could see the tiny red shape stubbornly wobble to its feet, Cliffjumper angrily struggling to stay upright. He had to duck down behind the hulking corpse of the Decepticon he'd downed earlier a moment later as laser fire sheared through the space his frame had been, and Mirage hissed.

He couldn't see Cliffjumper's expression when the Decepticon who'd been shooting at him had his helm exploded into shrapnel in a burst of plasma, but he got to see the reaction to the next one as Cliffjumper jerked around, optics narrowed and thus of course _completely missed_ the Decepticon who tried to get close.

Which just justified Mirage taking both that mech and the earlier ones out, and Cliffjumper certainly didn't miss Mirage's shot, or the rain of armour pieces spattering onto him.

The dim-opticed, dumbstruck expression was quite funny, and Mirage allowed himself a brief, tiny smile before he went back to keeping _anything_ out of range from _his_ minibot until he could be picked up. After the sixth Decepticon fell, Cliffjumper yelled something unheard and threw a rude gesture in his direction.

Yes, Mirage knew Cliffjumper could use his arms, and thus his guns and cannon still. That didn't mean he wasn't going to make sure Cliffjumper wasn't jumped again. Capable of using his weapons or not, his position just wasn't safe, and if he was almost jumped by one Decepticon, another could get him from behind or the side considering _where_ he'd gone down.

Mirage couldn't dredge up enough dread for Cliffjumper's inevitable tantrum later - at least he'd be safe then. And the angry invectives Cliffjumper had been throwing at him over the comm. until Prowl cut in with a curt reminder of 'radio silence', had been... ah, he shouldn't, but yes. Cute. Mirage laughed as he shot down yet another Decepticon and smiled as he saw the grimace on Cliffjumper's faceplates through the scope.


	13. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all need it sometimes.

It wasn't often either of them got downtrodden enough to need quiet support, but when Cliffjumper came back from patrol that evening, he just had to take one look at Mirage to see that something Was Not Okay. 

Normally, he'd have gone and done at least a cursory wipe-down, and when Mirage had had the chance to distance and compress, he'd probably be annoyed... But as it was, Cliffjumper just dumped what he was carrying, walked over and nestled himself into the curled-up noble's lap, providing a warm, engine-thrumming center for Mirage to wrap himself around.


	14. Brooding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper considers the weirdness of the situation.
> 
> (This from my idea that some cybertronians can create protoforms as eggs, and the process through which such an egg is made.)

He'd never actually _admit to it_ , but the reason he'd rather supply the raw protoform material for the egg after it was out rather than give it up to a tank had nothing to do with feeling overly protective of it and _having to be_ the (or one of) the ones who made sure the egg could grow.

Possessiveness and the utter _weirdness_ of sticking his fingers into his spark chamber cavity and tug out a few strands of protoform to attach to the egg aside, that exact action felt... nice. He'd once asked Ratchet if something was _wrong_ with him for experiencing that slightly warm, flickering _stroking_ feel of the protoform being sucked into the egg. 

Ratchet had stared for a moment and then shaken his helm, saying that the process usually felt good at _some_ point, though usually it would be when the egg was first forming, or the press of the egg against the inside of the chestplates when it was ready to be removed.

That part Cliffjumper actually found not just uncomfortable, but intensely _weird_. Not exactly alien or threatening, but you weren't _supposed_ to have something in your spark chamber cavity besides, well. The spark chamber itself. When he'd heard that, Ratchet had wondered how he'd ended up a protoform formatter.

Cliffjumper had pointed out Ratchet was the medic, so shouldn't _he_ know, and then he'd gotten whacked on the helm.

But all of _that_ aside, Cliffjumper thought with a snort and curled up a little tighter around the egg and his open spark chamber cavity, eyeing the door suspiciously. He _should_ find this part odd as well, but it just felt... nice.


	15. Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief thing which I believe was made with the background of "Mirage started out as a Decepticon". Some newcomers attempt to drag Cliffjumper into their plans.

"Hey, want to help us bring down the stuck-up glitch a notch or two?"

Cliffjumper looked up from the cube he'd been staring into, optics narrowing into a frown as he didn't recognise the mechs in front of him. Who the _slag_ were they and how had they--- wait, right. Temporary reinforcement and forced reallocation from space. He still didn't have a clue who they were and his scowl deepened.

"Who?" Because who were they thinking of? Tracks? _Sunstreaker_? He wouldn't mind the latter because _slag_ the fraggin' narcissistic sociopa--

"Oh, come on, _you_ wouldn't know? _Him_." The mech on the right yanked his helm towards two mechs who just got through the door of the rec room, and suddenly it wasn't hard at all to figure out who they meant.

"Frag no. Get lost." _This_ thing again? So he hadn't trusted him - he'd had good reasons to! REALLY. At the same time his processor was already whispering all the ways _these_ mechs could be moles, infiltrators, sleeper agents or outright traitors. Who the pit had run a check on them anyway? Had anyone?

"What, you don't have to play _gun shy_ , we know---"

"I SAID, _GET LOST_!" The yell silenced the whole rec room, and Cliffjumper scowled at the three mechs looming at his table and then at everyone else, his optics briefly locking with bright, intense yellow before he looked away and _finally_ the three idiots left him in peace.


	16. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rec. room games and confessions.

Cliffjumper was scowling fit to mould his face into that configuration and stick it there, sitting in a corner of the rec room and stubbornly ignoring the amused, just _this_ side of mean jeering being tossed around.

So maybe he'd let his vocaliser run away from him and brought the change of tone in the 'game' that was being played himself. That didn't mean they'd have to shout for nearing a breem now, all the ways he was such a much more worse choice than Mirage. 

Originally, the "game" had been going from one mech to another, with everybody jokingly in the room giving up a reason why they'd date the mech. And then the turn had come to Mirage, and he'd _fragging stupidly_ snapped out that no one liked a secretive, aloof aft who lived in the past.

And then the whole room had turned - literally and figuratively - on _him_ , and he was _not_ going to curl up or yell or toss anything. 

No.

He wasn't.

Snarling, Cliffjumper slammed the cube down on the table, energon going _everywhere_ as the containment field broke and he stalked through the room, ignoring laughter (he hoped the Seekers reduced the glitch-twins into scrap next battle) and stopped in front of Mirage, not long enough for any of the hands or swearing mechs to reach him, just long enough to meet Mirage's optics.

"I LIKE YOU, OKAY?!" And then he _ran_. Optics bright and engine hot in embarrassment because frag it all, that wasn't what he'd planned to say, at all, and it wasn't as if it _mattered_ as the rest of all those meaningless words slammed around in his processor.

He'd also just pretend they'd skipped him the first go around because he hadn't played along before he harped on Mirage, despite the fact that they'd not cared if someone was playing or not.

Didn't matter. He didn't need fragging glitches to tell him the reasons he was likeable - though he certainly didn't need a bunch of glitches recounting all the reasons he _wasn't_ , either.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it – why _would_ it be? Primus wouldn't be so kind as _that_. So that led to staring at the delicate knot in his hands, having to work not to close his fist around it. If he did, the chance was the threads would catch in the gaps and tear, and while it was a chance even with a proper knot, this one was made of organic thread instead of metal, which meant it was even _more_ fragile.

"This ain't funny." Whirling around, Cliffjumper glared up into yellow optics, jaw tense. He was kind of surprised Mirage was actually still _visible_. "I _know _I said that stuff, and I'm _sorry_ okay? Ya don't have to..." Trailing off, Cliffjumper's optics widened as Mirage took a step closer, then went down on a knee and while he took a step back automatically, the hands on his shoulders kept him from going further.__

__"You know what they were saying isn't true, don't you?" Mirage murmured, and Cliffjumper looked away, engine growling quietly._ _

__"Could just as well _be true_ \---" And then his optics snapped wide as Mirage closed the gap and _kissed him_ and he unconsciously squeezed the knot in his hands anyway._ _

__::I think not.::_ _


	17. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of fun taking advantage of lack of gravity.

"... Why'd I suggest this?" The question was followed by a muttered swear and then a buzzed squawk as a horn was tweaked.

"Because you were as bored as I was, and generally inexperienced or not, you aren't without _imagination_ \---Ah!" Mirage gasped and then purred appreciatively as tiny, clever fingers slid up along his side and then into the gaps and joints where the wheel-mount connected to his upper back. It wasn't sensitive in the regular sense of the word, but as a partly-protected connective joint that flipped around during transformation and had to be able to tell pressure, with something small enough to reach and press against it...

"Yeah, but this is just--- frag it all---" Cliffjumper swallowed his groan as Mirage _licked_ along the other horn, briefly distracting him from the fact that they'd flipped around and his back had skated along the ceiling before Mirage used it for leverage and sent them floated away and bouncing into a wall.

His gyros were spinning, trying adamantly to keep track of up-down-left-right-diagonal-ANYTHING and being thoroughly thwarted what with the lack of gravity. It also left everything curiously light and sensitive as systems tried to compensate for the lack of direction.

Hence why he'd gone for the joints already; the lack of gravity pressure left them more sensitive than normal for _any_ pressure, and Mirage was squirming against his hands, pushing non-existent weight back into them as much as he could, back arching.

Then he lost concentration as his vision went to static at the feel of what felt like centrifugal force suction around a horn, the pressure _humming_ over the metal. Uselessly, there was nothing to push back against and instead they were sent into a slow spin as Cliffjumper twisted against Mirage, realising after a moment that he was _whining_ and shut his vocaliser off.

"Shh, don't do that. I like hearing you." Unceremoniously, Mirage then thrust two fingers into Cliffjumper's valve, and the yell bounced around the room as Cliffjumper froze, hands tightening around the wheel-mount joints, his startled noise undercut by Mirage's lower, airy moan.


	18. A Mission Awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper gets in trouble, Mirage finds him... and then takes advantage of the situation. Cliffjumper reluctantly finds it's not too bad.

"I can't _believe_ the trouble you get yourself into, you know." The hand on his knee startled Cliffjumper into a higher activity-level and he couldn't _believe_ he'd actually gone into a short recharge-cycle, _especially_ with the tingling, insistent pressure/light/heat that wrapped around his horns.

"Wh---Mirage?" Cliffjumper gave in to the urge to reset his optics, and denied the relief fluttering in his fuel tank, making his engine skip a cycle of two. 

_Thank Primus_ for small favours. 

"How'd ya find me? And _get me the frag outta this_!" He wriggled, pulling his feet closer to his thighs for a moment, and then stretched them out - or tried to. The rope wasn't any more forgiving than the other times he'd tried the past few cycles since he'd been dumped in here.

"Well, there were a few possibilities to go through, so we split up. Jazz took to the auctions since we have to monitor those anyway, we sent Bluestreak back to the rooms in case you'd just gotten lost-" Mirage's optics narrowed and he tapped a finger against a bared and bent knee-joint as Cliffjumper snorted loudly at that, "Ironhide went to keep a look out at the shipping bays... I got the pleasure dens." Mirage's bland, smooth tone slid over Cliffjumper's choked squawk as that reveal apparently was a surprise. 

Not that Mirage could blame him; Cliffjumper probably hadn't seen much of anything, and while he'd obviously been cleaned up and polished, it was doubtful he'd seen enough on the way to the room to figure out where he was, especially after getting dumped in a dark room.

Squeezing the knee joint again, Mirage leaned forward and rested a knee on the edge of the rounded berth Cliffjumper was sitting on, leaning around him to check if the energon rope was the only thing keeping the minibot restrained.

" _Mira~ge_!" Cliffjumper hissed, squirming again, trying to shift his position and stretch out and got nowhere. Straightening up again, Mirage smiled slightly.

"It's all right now. We just have to figure out a way to get you out of here most easily---"

"Just cut me loose an' I'll show ya _easy_ , slag it all Mirage _what's the holdup_!?" Cliffjumper shouted, clearly - and admittedly understandably so - frustrated. Shaking his helm, Mirage leaned forward and silenced the rest of the rant with a kiss. There was a startled noise from the minibot, but it wasn't hard to engage him in the kiss, and soon there was a tiny tongue probing against his lower lip, making the noble smile into the kiss.

And that, of course, made Cliffjumper remember what was going on and he yanked his helm back, freezing mid-motion, optics flaring.

Apparently the ropes around his horns did more than just making the minibot look absolutely _delightful_. 

"Stop it! What the frag, Mirage! Why're you tryin' this now? _Here_?!" Cliffjumper squawked, and Mirage let a faint, buzzy static sigh loose.

"Like I said, we need some time to plan on how to get you out of here without causing any unnecessary scenes. We still haven't wrapped up the actual reason we're here, and if we get chased off the moon, we won't be able to. So why not take advantage..?" Trailing off, Mirage reached out and hooked a finger between the glowing strands that stretched between the horns and _tugged_.

Cliffjumper's protest, rant, or recrimination died in warbling static and his engine revved while he arched his back. The squirm _this time_ held a fair amount of hips pressing upwards and Mirage could feel a change in the charge hidden beneath the panel where his knee pad was pressed just slightly against Cliffjumper's interface array.

"Y'--- ghn. You can't be fraggin' _serious_!" Cliffjumper's optics had gone wide and bright and his voice was airy and if Mirage hadn't been serious before, watching this spectacle certainly made him so.

Mirage felt his engine drop into a purr and he leaned forward, catching Cliffjumper in another kiss.

::I have never been more serious. This is an opportunity I wouldn't miss.::

Not the fact that Cliffjumper was tied up - if that was the issue, he could provide that himself and probably have the minibot agreeing more or less enthusiastically. It was probably well if Cliffjumper believed that was the sticking point though, and he probably was, the way he squirmed, tensing the ropes in agitation but not demanding to be let loose again. Not yet anyway. 

No, secretly Mirage was getting quite charged up by the situation and surroundings in themselves. A bit shameful, perhaps, but the minibot's captors had done a (too) good job of fitting Cliffjumper into their brothel... And he _had_ paid the charge to get in here.


	19. Dark!verse 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU based on the idea that Mirage was a Decepticon spy and traitor, and left the Autobots at some point... and now the Decepticons have won.

Three orns, five decacyles, two megacycles. That's how long after the group he'd been with had been scattered after being found out that it took. He'd been _careless_ even if, logically, it _was_ all only a matter of time.

That still didn't kstop the frustration from boiling up, and he didn't have time with _finesse_ just tossed the bomb and tried to _run_. 

If he could get _deeper_ they wouldn't bother following (not yet, anyway). But even as the explosion rocked the narrow access tunnel and threw both minibot and pursuers off their feet in different directions, a blast went off in a glittering arc of static blue, hitting Cliffjumper in the back.

He met the wall facefirst and at first he thought it was just the explosion that had knocked his motor control loose, but no. Engine revving in disbelieving rage and frustration, Cliffjumper snarled as he was yanked up and slammed against the wall. At least the slag-sucking Decepticon had gotten fractures in his side and burns along the same which had been closest to the explosion.

"Y'think yer bein' _clever_ ain't ya? Well, I'll _show you_ what happens to those losers that _resist arrest_ an' processin'." The Seeker was probably partly pissed that he had to be underground, but that didn't help _Cliffjumper_ as he got the barrel of an arm cannon up against his face and then forced past his lips.

Hissing around the metal, he completely ignored the way it warmed and the whining of it powering up, and he'd _somehow_ kick the fragger, stunned or no, if that hand was going where he thought it was---

"Hey, tone it down. That one's tagged, by one of the officers an' everythin'." 

Cliffjumper had the momentary chance to throw a stare, incredulous, at the second Seeker before he was tossed _at_ the mech, deftly caught and slung over a shoulder.

"Fine, whatever. Less jus' get to processin' then. Pity though..."

For his function, Cliffjumper couldn't at all figure out _who_ the frag in the upper Decepticon echelon would be interested...

***

He felt odd, and not just because of the insidious little lines of code that wiggled like a virus through his processor that would make sure he'd go nowhere, do as told and--- Ignore that. He also would like to ignore the feeling of a new altmode, simply because he hadn't chosen it _himself_. It was a massively strange feeling of everything rearranged and shaped differently when he hadn't been prepared for it and hadn't _chosen_ it.

There was nothing wrong with it, really. From what he could _see_ it'd be more rounded than last, give his engine a bit more room to play given the extra exhaust and air intake directly for the engine - though why the slag that would matter _now_ he wasn't sure. It was also, perhaps tellingly, purely cybertronian.

Scowling at the mirror - any mirror, the room was basically all mirror and wasn't _that_ creepy as well, Cliffjumper didn't miss the door unlocking. Whirling around, he wasn't sure who he was even going to see because nothing made _sense_ , but really maybe he _shouldn't_ have been surprised.

" _Mirage_!?" Cliffjumper yelled, engine sputtering and a grimace pulling on his lips at the faint smirk - and deepening as the look on the sharp-lined, regal face turned decidedly... proprietary as those yellow optics wandered up and down and he suddenly wished for something to _hide_ behind.

"Indeed. Expecting someone else?" The quirk to the expression was distinctly amused, and Cliffjumper sputtered and then snarled, his frame tensing---

"Stop that."

And he did.

"And in public, that'll be Lord Mirage."


	20. Dark!verse 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another one in the dark AU, this time about protoform eggs...

"Fraggin' _pit_." Cliffjumper stared at the mirror, then reflexively tried to look _down_ , but of course he couldn't get a view at this angle. Looking up again, he grimaced at himself - and the thing that presently was no larger than a human fist, resting against the upper curve and along the side of his spark chamber. 

Actual protoform circuits and pulsing liquid metal strands poked through the layer of circuits that surrounded the spark chamber and that didn't look safe _at all_ , but they had to be bared to let the fragile little thing nestled against the spark chamber get what it needed.

An egg. 

A slag-dripping, Primus-bedamned, fragging _egg_ \- or whatever the proper medical term was, Cliffjumper didn't really _care_. What he cared about was what the slag he'd do _now_?

Optics dimming, Cliffjumper raised the hand that had previously been tracing the mirror image of the reflected egg and turned it inwards instead. He still wasn't sure what he should, would, do, but he knew it couldn't _stay_ there---

"You're not destroying that."

"Gah!" Cliffjumper jerked, surprised and then instantly recriminating himself for having _completely slagging missed_ Mirage entering the room. 

The hand over his own tightened even as the noble came closer, warm against Cliffjumper's back and then Mirage's _other_ hand was resting right below the opened cavity. Cliffjumper stiffened, anger boiling up as he tried to get his hand back and got nowhere.

"And don't close your spark chamber cavity."

Obediently, the chestplates retreated and Cliffjumper briefly sounded like an angry lilleth.

"Slaggin'----" He cut himself off, glaring at the floor instead of looking in the mirror, trying _not_ to pay attention to the hand underneath the opened cavity. Frustration and resentment bubbled up and for the moment the things that he _inexplicably_ liked about Mirage - liked _despite_ the situation - were completely forgotten for the fact that there was no choice, that the traitor was part of the reason he was here, was part of the reason it'd _ended up like this_ , and---

And guiltily, Cliffjumper knew it could be worse. It could be a lot worse. A long, slender black finger brushed against the tiny egg, and Cliffjumper winced, and then froze.

... Except perhaps it already was. Mirage was - had been, was, arguably again, a Towers mech. Mirage had brought medical files over when he left for the Decepticons. Mirage...

"You _knew_ ," Cliffjumper hissed, and if he _could_ have he'd have kicked him in right in the interface array and then punch those pretty faceplates in as well.

"I did. And you're not to destroy that egg, or do anything to cause it harm, before or after it's detached. Provide it what it needs."

It took a moment to realise he was _trembling_ , hands tightened into fists and teeth grinding together. He should, wanted, to say no, to tell Mirage to go slag himself, but he'd wanted to say that before and nothing came.


	21. Dark!verse 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A third in the AU, just a random bit of bondage... probably a punishment for something.

"Frag it---gah! _Not around the horns_!" He tried to yank his helm out of reach, but that's rather hard to do when you can't get up and scuttle away. The best he could manage at the moment was pulling his legs closer against each other, but not pull them closed.

"I told you to play nice, Cliffjumper." Mirage didn't sound particularly angry, or even recriminating; rather, he sounded _pleased_ and Cliffjumper hissed, engine rattling. Mirage didn't really need to tie him up; a few words, and he'd stay still and let Mirage do whatever the slag he wanted to, but apparently this was how Mirage wanted to play it.

Another loop was finished around one horn, the rope then stretched across to wrap around the other, and even with gritting his teeth he couldn't stay quiet. Or still. Mirage's chuckle was _infuriating_. Then the noble stepped away and a brief moment later the room went _dark_.

"... what the slag..." Scowling, Cliffjumper tried to look around, even with the slight restraint of the rope going from his wrists up to his horns, but even turning on his various headlights didn't help much.

Bluish light and the pink glow of the faintly warm, squeezing energon rope seemed more or emphasis the darkness than light it up, Cliffjumper squirmed again as the pressure around his horns just didn't want to let up - wouldn't, until the loops of rope were taken away.

"... Frrr. Frag... you." That wasn't a no. It couldn't have been anyway, and this time Mirage said nothing when the chestplates closed, just _purred_ and lifted him up.


	22. For Want of a Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another AU, but more because it's "Mirage is a deep-cover Autobot spy among the Decepticons", and a mission gone wrong lands Cliffjumper and his squad in trouble.
> 
> This one contains non-con.

Cliffjumper _hated_ running. But with no weapons - because while he'd picked up a length of broken off support bar it couldn't really count as a proper weapon - comms. disrupted and his altmode locked away, he needed to run until he got to a good, defensible spot. 

He'd really have preferred to be stuck in the arena, weapons or no, than this. But no, after their recon group got ambushed and they'd been captured instead of killed immediately, the rusty slaggers had picked out him and Bluestreak for _this_ , even if that hadn't been apparent from the beginning...

_"Fraggin' hell **let go** , I'm gonna melt ya down for slag like the useless, slime-encrusted scrap you are!" All of that was muffled behind the hand that covered part of his face though, as he was hauled up in the air. If there was any time he hated being as short as he was, it was in situations like these. He kicked but got nothing but more air and tensed in the 'Con's grip as the mech gave him a once over, then looked at the others, still on the ground._

_"This one, and... that one," said the Decepticon with a nod to slagging **Bluestreak** of all mechs. **Of course** they'd choose him for... whatever it was. _

_"Looks vulnerable and fast enough to make it interesting, plus those sensor panels're always a favourite," the pulsing red stare cut back to Cliffjumper, who glared right back even with fingers partly deflecting the heat of the snarl, "and while something tiny like this would make itself really amusing in the pit, I'm sure there's quite a few that'd find it more rewarding if he didn't end up slagged immediately." Then the 'Con **shook him** laughing while Cliffjumper swore again and ignored the entreaties over the emergency frequency for him to stop making it worse - for himself if nothing else._

Scowling, Cliffjumper ducked underneath a brittle bush of barely-growing crystal, a few branches being caught right on the edge of his back kibble, sliding against the edge with a dry, drawn-out crunch as they were broken off.

Slag.

He sucked at running.

But there was no time to stop and get rid of the incriminating evidence that he'd gone this way, especially with his lack of altmode. He was much slower in rootmode, so all he had going for him right now was his size, the fact that his sensory horns could give him forewarning of anyone approaching, and this barely-a-weapon piece of rusty metal bar. 

Briefly, a smirk flittered over his faceplates as the memory of the one chance he'd had to use it had gone rather well; the mech had gone down with a busted hip-joint, right in the join between interface and joint. The mech had howled something _fierce_ and frag all of this!

There _must_ be a way out of this huge but still enclosed "wilderness" arena, at least so he wasn't trapped and could see about finding Bluestreak. Hopefully he hadn't gotten himself caught yet.

Something prickled along his back and collected around the tip of his horns, but snapping around to look got him nothing but the empty surroundings of dying crystal growth, burned-out scrap of old missile carriers and rocks. He dove behind one of them anyway and stilled, pulling up the metal bar against himself and tried to _listen_.

He'd filtered out the sound of his own cooling systems and fans going so he could up the sensitivity of his sensory horns, but there was no filtering out the prickle of his own EM field due to that, and he could have mistaken the tickling slide along his horns for his own field and not someone else's...

Scowl deepening, Cliffjumper wondered if that was what had happened, because he couldn't see or hear or _feel_ anythin---

He was suddenly yanked up in the air by the metal bar being grabbed, despite the fact that there was _nothing_ and _no one_ around, but clearly that wasn't stopping the cheater. Swearing, Cliffjumper let go of his so-called weapon instead of dangling in the air holding onto it, and surged forward.

He hit someone all right, a dull clang that reverberated through him, but Cliffjumper remembered too late that he should have _run_ instead of _attacked_. Since even if he was upon the mech now and could reach for a knee-joint, intending to bury his fingers into it and tear out what he could, he still couldn't see the mech himself.

And if he couldn't see him, he couldn't _defend himself_ from him.

The hit made Cliffjumper's processor ring and his vision go to static, and while he kicked out as he hit the ground, he was kicked in the side and then flipped onto his front with another well-placed kick. He was slammed back face first into the ground when the arm he'd been using to get himself up again was yanked back and around and with a knee against his back, there was no way he had the leverage to defend himself.

That wasn't the worst, though.

The worst was the lingering slide of fingers going from the upper edge of his aft, tracing along the edge towards his right hip joint, unshielded as they were, and then _down_ , scraping right at the edge of the panel that protected his valve.

"HANDS OFF, RUST HEAP!" yelled Cliffjumper, trashing and attempting to get another kick in, though while he hit metal a few times he was shortly yanked backwards by the back of the kibble on his back, and then put on his feet as the mech _finally_ made himself visible.

With a gun shoved underneath Cliffjumper's jaw, the barrel scraping against the thin, flexible metal of his throat.

"I think I'll get as handsy as I want, Autobot." The 'Con's voice was a warm, throaty purr that under other circumstances would have lit an embarrassing curl of charge along his circuits, but right now it just made Cliffjumper grit his teeth and glare up into a burning red visor that covered... a curiously large amount of his face.

The rest of the mech was tall and slender and less armoured than one might expect the regular Decepticon to be, the white and blue colours cool against the red glow.

The slide of a panel retracting was loud in the space between them, and Cliffjumper couldn't keep his optics from widening before he set his mouth stubbornly. The gun stabbed into his throat, and he glanced upwards again.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll play along... There's mechs bigger than me who'd pay well to get a go." The smirk around those thin lips was lazily cruel, and Cliffjumper didn't bother hiding either the rattling rev of his engine, or his bared teeth. "And if you use _those_ , you'll regret it."

He should do it. 

If nothing else, it'd give him some time to start running again, put some distance between them - but this mech wasn't the only Decepticon in the arena, and Cliffjumper now had his slagging hands _tied behind his back_. 

With another snarl he leaned forward slowly, and at least he wasn't quite short enough to _not_ need to do that. Eyeing the spike, long and slender like the mech himself with some curious ridged rings with glowing blue lines set in them at intervals along it among the natural, shifting filaments, Cliffjumper went _lower_ instead, scraping the teeth of his lower jaw against the bared edge of the valve and ran his tongue along it before thrusting it inside.

He wasn't going for the spike until he had to, not with the length of that thing. His mouth wasn't his valve, and even so if the slagger got the idea to go _there_ there'd be some slight issues as well...

The Decepticon widened his stance, a muffled, held black engine-rev vibrating through his frame and thrumming into Cliffjumper's while he twirled his tongue around. Redirecting some charge even as it stung the thin, sensitive metal of barely-covered protoform, Cliffjumper managed to keep his smirk purely mental at the twitch around him when he flicked the charged tongue against the nodes and filaments of the valve.

Then he had that fragging gun pushing against the side of his helm again, digging into one of the audial vent grooves and pulling _up_.

"A very _commendable_ initiative, but that's not what I prefer... Unless you'd like to be on your back."

Growling right against the valve and causing the mech to shudder and let loose the faintest of airy moans, Cliffjumper straightened up enough he was hovering over the tip of the spike instead. Casting a narrow, intensely blue glare and flexing his arms in an attempt at tearing the energon rope - though of course that didn't work - Cliffjumper let the presence of the gun, slowly charging up against the side of his helm and then his throat again as it slid downwards, force him downwards with the same motion as well.

Reluctantly widening his lips until the head slid past, he couldn't quite keep back the wince as the charge that danced among the filaments hit his lips, and then his tongue and the floor of his mouth. 

Fragger was already changed up enough it _stung_ , zipping along his mouth and deadening nodes calibrated to pick up the chemical set-up and taste of energon - or scents in the air more than the charge from a spike.

Flattening his tongue as he bent downwards, Cliffjumper muttered a curse, feeling the sound vibrate up from his voicebox and then against the spike itself, flitting along the length as he slid down it. The 'Con groaned, throaty enough Cliffjumper had to squash the little flicker of arousal that could be charge if he let it. And then the slagger _thrust_ , twitching his hips to force his spike deeper and it knocked against the closed aperture---

But of course that wasn't enough, especially as there was about a third of the spike left outside Cliffjumper's mouth. With the gun pressing against the side of his throat, Cliffjumper stubbornly withdrew at first, tongue moulded against the underside of the spike and feeling all those tiny filaments slide along and catch against the grooves and seams in his tongue. The ringed, ridged mods pulsed warmly against his lips when he passed, but Cliffjumper had the feeling that wasn't _all_ they could do.

At the tip, he went down again, teeth scraping carefully against the workings even if he wished to do _more_ than that and aware of the hand suddenly gripping his helm. One thumb pressed against the base of his right horn and the pressure shot live lightning down his circuits, even if he'd lowered their sensitivity. 

He couldn't keep the groan silent or the shudder still, moaning around the spike and causing the 'Con to thrust in again. Frag it all. This time, he let the aperture open for the intrusion, having to manually override the alerts and following lockdown that shrieked about foreign objects in his intake. Swallowing around the spike, Cliffjumper angled a glare upwards, meeting a dim visor that showed a hint of yellow behind it.

Against his horn - did the mech have no decency at all to do it _lower_?! - a few words were tapped out in shorthand.

/You okay/

Snorting heavily enough to make his frame rattle, Cliffjumper's answer was trying to slide back - and finding he couldn't, the hand tightening around his helm to keep him there. Frustrated, he swallowed around it, optics narrowing as he held the stare they were locked in.

/Extraction. Getting Bluestreak, whoever else is alive./

Humming in affirmative, Cliffjumper closed his teeth over the spike, bringing to bear slightly more pressure than was probably wanted and not caring as the deep-cover spy jerked and then thrust back in. Fragger should get back because Cliffjumper was getting _thoroughly tired_ of having his mouth spread wide over this slagging spike as well as having the length of it shoved down into his intake.

With another growl, Cliffjumper _slowly_ slid backwards, teeth locked carefully around the spike and his tongue following, soothing the filaments that had met the teeth, and this time he got to get off and stand back. 

The mech shuddered, optics behind the visor burning, but he let go of Cliffjumper's helm and withdrew his spike - and then whipped an arm out and lifted Cliffjumper up, tossing him over a shoulder and ignoring the outraged squawk.

"Well, I have other things to do, but you've earned some continued function," the spy murmured and Cliffjumper once again silently cursed the mech's throaty, rumbling tone.


	23. Scratching the Itch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another AU, this time using a set-up where one part of the population have animal altmodes and are, unknowing for those living in the cities, actually proper mechs.

He'd tried to ignore the itch, that stupid, annoying thing that led to nice things if he just _let it_ , but Cliffjumper was stubborn about this - both by design and personality, and he refused to let this be on _Mirage's_ terms.

Which meant choosing a time and day and then refuse to let Mirage leave for whatever worthless stuff he was doing that day. Which meant he could count on more than his two hands how many times he tripped Mirage by running around his legs, and then when the glitch finally got the _hint_ , it still took quite a few nips to the back of his legs to get him moving.

When Mirage actually started at first _following_ him, Cliffjumper felt the flush of triumph like a heated crawl over his circuits, and when Mirage stopped following and actively attempted to _catch him_ , his spark flared and his cooling fans kicked into a higher gear - and not because of the exertion.

It wasn't the same thing because Mirage wasn't one of _them_ , but for a stiff-strutted, stuck up hunter and city-mech, he was okay. He was also tall and slender and had an engine powerful enough to make nice, purring noises when Cliffjumper rested next to him, so there were some similarities.

Which was probably why the cycle had kicked into gear at all, even if Cliffjumper wasn't going to let it become any more than a satisfaction of the itch. Mirage had already found out he could _transform_ and that was dangerous enough on its own. Anything else he was even more reluctant to even accidentally show, even if the noble seemed like a good mech who currently had his engine gunning.

Cliffjumper didn't make it _easy_ for him - that'd be an insult - but he was hot and tiring himself out more than usual, which meant Mirage did, in the end, get the drop on him. Not quite literally, but literally enough he had Mirage throwing himself when he caught up, sending them both to the ground. He kicked, squirmed and growled, but Mirage had a good grip, so in the end he pushed his aft up, tails smacking Mirage in the faceplates.

"Cliffjumper, I'm not going to do anything like _this_ ," said Mirage with a groan and a smack to the multi-tailed aft, which just had that aft wriggling, and no, that did nothing for him. Really. "It's quite edgy enough that I can't keep my hands off when you're in root mode, I'm not going _this far_. Transform." It wasn't just a demand, it was an order, and with Mirage's hand heavy and pinching slightly at the back of his neck - how the frag had he figured _that_ out? - Cliffjumper whined, caught the noise with an annoyed growl, and then shifted underneath the noble.

Mirage managed to keep his grip, and Cliffjumper was... both annoyed and pleased because he still wanted to get rid of the itch, and yes, Mirage was good at this part, but _frag it all_ \---

A wordless, soundless gasp escaped him when Mirage smacked his still-upturned aft again, and that was all it took for the panels to slide aside. Digging his fingers into the ground, Cliffjumper ground his teeth, ignored the roar of his engine, and ground out a ::yes:: over the comm frequency he'd _finally_ managed to get Mirage to listen to a while ago and thrust his aft up again.

This part was so _embarrassing_ , because he didn't really _like_ this position, but it was _completely undeniable_ that it was what he needed, wanted---

::Mirage!:: What came out audibly was nothing more than a sharply-sucked in vent as Mirage snapped inside in a single, demanding stroke.


	24. Spark Ignition Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage gets a present for his decivorn spark ignition celebration that happens on Earth. It's not perfect, but it's as close as it can be.

"This idea _sucks slag_. I've changed my mind." Cliffjumper ducked away from Jazz's hands and the circlet of braided titanium in them, eyeing the fall of silk from it with a narrow scowl. 

He didn't want to know what Jazz had done to get his hands on the fraggin' _miles_ of gold, blue and white silk cloth he'd attached to various pieces of braided titanium and platinum. It wasn't actually how things should look _properly_ ; they had no metal meshcloth which the silk ought to be, but the most important thing was how it was _arranged_ not what the cloth was made of, since well. With the situation, they had to make do.

The metal was correct anyway, though the single diamond wasn't precisely the jewel meant to be used.

Either way, Cliffjumper didn't feel like this had been a good idea any longer, but Jazz wasn't deterred and simply followed the minibot's motion as if he'd expected it, snapping the circlet in place by angling it against the outside of one horn and then gently pressing it past the edge of the other, since the circlet was a shade too small. 

The result was that there was a faint, insistent _pressure_ around Cliffjumper's helm which was... distracting.

"Hey!" Scowling, Cliffjumper took a step back and then froze as he almost managed to catch the tail-end of a trailing piece of cloth that fell from his arm underneath one foot, dangerously close to ripping it. Jazz just smirked blandly at him, twined the length of silk that fell from one side of the circlet twice around itself and then pulled the end of it to the opposite side of Cliffjumper's helm, attaching it to the circlet and laid what was left over part of the helm, hiding one horn and shading the other.

"Look, you said y'wanted to surprise him, right? Something _different_ than being able to dance with him. Trust me, he'll... appreciate this." Jazz's smirk softened and he squatted down in front of Cliffjumper, pulling at the folds of the length that wrapped diagonally around Cliffjumper, around his back and then up the front again, to bare a shade more of the red chestplates and rearranging the braided ends of the cloth that draped over the other shoulder.

"Yeah, but... Look, this is fraggin' _stupid_. What're ya even _doin'_ anyway? Whatever this all means, I doubt it's _actually true_ and that's kinda rude, ain't it?" Cliffjumper squirmed but stayed in place, frowning and feeling increasingly _ridiculous_.

He wasn't _just_ regretting this because Mirage would know exactly the meaning of what Jazz was doing and that Cliffjumper certainly wasn't whatever this... was supposed to imply. What if the noble decided it was some attempt at _mocking_ him instead?

"I think he'll be pretty pleased you thought of it at all... even if y'had to ask someone else. And don't worry... it ain't anythin' _too_ wrong," said Jazz with a wavery flicker of his visor, similar to a wink. Cliffjumper grimaced and tried to cross his arms over his chestplates, caught himself, and scowled.

The layered, braided ends of the pieces around his arms, creating sleeves, had threads of silver in the braids. Then, woven into the thirteen big braids over his left shoulder were strands of platinum and gold. 

Those threads then extended out from the braids to his upper torso, reaching to the middle of the bit of bared chestplates where they twined into a cage for the diamond, cut into a thirteen-point facet cut. 

From there, the strands continued up under the cloth over his right shoulder, to attach from under it to the clasp that held the wrapped cloth up. Cliffjumper wasn't sure why or how Jazz had made the huge effort of obviously getting everything actually... _right_ , because shouldn't this have _cost a bunch_ or something?

"Jazz..."

"Don't worry 'bout it, 'Jumper. Just think of it as part of a bigger gift, right? We splurged for the twins when they hit the decivorn mark last year, like Mirage is now." Well, decivorn mark if they discounted four million years, but it was easier to not account for those when they tried to count their age and the spark-ignition celebration days of decivorns and vorns. There wasn't much point in commemorating such an event for them every _year_ after all, given their length of life, war or not.

Letting loose an explosive static sigh, Cliffjumper muttered wordlessly and pulled at one sleeve's braided end.

"I still think it's stupid." 

And it'd been his idea, too. 

He'd just... wanted to do _something_ that might mean something. Like the dance that he'd had Jazz teach him for new years (since that was a celebration the cybertronians could "get" and actually bothered to celebrate, compared with the more religiously-toned other yearly celebrations), but... well. More. Something _else_ and different.

Jazz had said he had the perfect idea, and that, then, led to _this_

To standing in the room he and Bumblebee had shared - sometimes still shared, if Mirage was out on a mission - and slowly getting wrapped in layers of colourful silks that got to imitate precious metalweave. 

Jazz still hadn't told him what it was for, and that had Cliffjumper even _more_ suspicious, because if it was just some random bit of high-falutin' pretty dress, then he'd _say so_ , right?

"Corridors're gonna be clear, and you're as finished as you can be. Wanna go?" Jazz's hand landed on his shoulder, and when he looked up into the softened, inquiring expression, Cliffjumper knew he could put his foot down and Jazz would help him get out of it.

But...

"Okay."

Mirage, of course, knew there were... preparations... going on, and while it'd never be on the level he'd experienced before, it was certainly nice that they actually had the chance to _do_ something like this. 

Over eight days (not going by Earth's days, for this just as they'd done for the twins, if nothing else, they kept the count as days on Cybertron) of celebration of various sorts, in between suppressing Decepticon plans as necessary.

This was what was on Mirage's mind when he wandered into his room - his and Cliffjumper's, if he was to be more exact - wondering what the traditional "gift" was going to be. 

Jazz _had_ indicated as he pinged him that he'd find it in the room. A bit different than they'd done for the twins, where Sideswipe and Sunstreaker and received their gift in the rec. room on the first day. But then, Mirage didn't feel it necessary to be given whatever token gift (meaningful or not) this would be _in public_ \---

Mirage stopped in the doorway, optics growing wide and engine stuttering before he caught himself, straightening even as his engine smoothed out again and Cliffjumper almost fell off the berth in surprise and haste to stand up.

This was... unexpected.

Not that, ahem, Cliffjumper was part of it - he'd more or less expected something like that, however improper and joking it would have made the gift - but the... flavour of it, so to speak.

"... Cliffjumper."

Said minibot scowled, almost crossed his arms and then stopped, tugging on the braids at the end of a sleeve (again, probably).

"I _knew_ this was a bad idea---" Cliffjumper broke off, optics narrowing and back stiffening as Mirage slowly walked closer. 

Someone had done an absolutely stellar job with what they had available here on Earth, truly. If he'd had less discipline, Mirage's engine would've revved loudly. As it was, his cooling fans picked up a shade.

"No... Thank you, Cliffjumper. It's an absolutely _delightful_ gesture." He couldn't stop the deep, thrumming purr his voice came out in, and Cliffjumper's helm snapped up, optics narrowing even further while they flared bright and he shifted on his feet.

Mirage slowly reached a hand out, trailing his fingertips over the braids on Cliffjumper's left shoulder, and then, carefully and not really touching, skated along the single piece of jewellery of the dress; the diamond in the "cage". 

It was a physical representation and offering of what was hidden _behind_ the bared bit of chestplates, and he couldn't quite stop the pleased, _possessive_ flare at the thought of what this was the barest hint of, of what it could look like if they'd still been on Cybertron.

An offering of frame and spark for someone of a higher station... symbolically Primus was involved, with the mech of the higher position technically taking their creator's place. Mirage didn't have much over for the practice as it had spread outside the Towers, devoid of its original meaning, but here, right now... 

Oh, he shouldn't, but it did sort of feel as a proper tribute from the high command of the Autobot army to one of the last survivors of the influential - politically and religiously - Towers.

Mirage knelt down in front of Cliffjumper and carefully gathered up his hands in both of his. Not that he needed to use both, but it was only right. 

Aware of Cliffjumper's wide, bright optics brimming with both suspicion and anticipation following his movement, Mirage leaned forward, brushing his lips briefly over Cliffjumper's first. He could only barely keep the smirk mental at the impatient noise when he then withdrew and brushed a kiss to the front of Cliffjumper's helm instead, against the central, thirteen-knot front of the circlet, and then he bent down slowly, past Cliffjumper's helm, kissing the caged diamond last. 

Even the minibot realised something was... _meant_ there, frozen a little as Mirage's lips mouthed over the imitated spark chamber, and very, very briefly pressed his tongue in against it to taste the carbon of the diamond within.


	25. Political Maneuvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A politician tries to use the politically naïve Emirate of Polyhex for his own ends. It ends... differently.

Polyhex had some pretty... odd ways of choosing Emirates, compared to (and in the opinion of) other city-states, which meant it could end up with what had happened now; not just an inexperienced mech from a pretty... low echelon of society, but someone who hadn't volunteered at all. Polyhex said it evened things out and let hidden talents come forth, since while a lot volunteered, even more did not.

True or not, it usually meant those who weren't exceptional or who had help (or came from a part of society that knew how to move in the government and politics) got manipulated.

Which, in this case, had led to the Emirate of Polyhex demanding the representative of the Towers - not a city-state, no, but a powerful and influential political entity in its own right - settle the debt they owed Polyhex in a very... personal manner.

Not that Cliffjumper had known _that_ when he followed the advice. He wasn't stupid, no, but impulsive and inexperienced and not at all suited to politics. Neither was he hopeless, and wasn't completely bending to being led around by his sensory horns, so to speak. But he sometimes just couldn't tell what he agreed to when it sounded like a reasonable idea, and later turned out to be... not really so.

He'd agreed to set it as the solution to the debt because while the debt wasn't insignificant, it was more... political than monetary, and it seemed more useful and effective for evening the debt if it was pared down to something personal.

And then Hound, who he'd completely missed hadn't been present at the beginning of the audience with the representative of the Towers (or, even, he realised now, during the advisory sessions for what he was supposed to do) had pinged him and explained to him _just what_ he'd set as a demand for the debt to be voided.

Cliffjumper had almost shrieked out loud and tossed the nearest thing at the mech beside him and then proceeded to - probably inadvisedly - loudly and angrily order anyone and everyone but the Towers representative out of the audience hall, since, with this being a personal settlement of the debt, _the negotiations of such_ ought to be personal.

But now, staring at the tall, slender noble, his expression regal and closed off, optics narrow in a way Cliffjumper couldn't read and which annoyed him, the poor minibot realised he'd probably made a mistake.

The noble - Mirage, if he remembered the designation rattled off among the noble and religious titles when he had been admitted - would probably be... _displeased_ (hah! that was probably the least of it) that he'd had to agree to _this_ , and Cliffjumper didn't doubt Mirage was a lot more... proficient... in negotiations in general, and when disgruntled in particular.

Especially as Cliffjumper, along with a pointer from Hound, realised Ratbat had made the suggestion because the whole thing was probably intended to be worked out to humiliate not just the representative, but the Towers as a whole. Sure, he'd... stopped that now, but that didn't save him from probably making a mess of the negotiations _now_ , or getting himself in (more) trouble and it was too late to change it to something else.

He couldn't quite keep still as he shifted in his seat, glancing away and then back up at the noble and quieted the warble his engine wanted to make.

"So... uh." Yes, intelligent. Cliffjumper resisted the urge to groan and bury his faceplates ín his hands.

\--  
"You're not _quite_ as innocent as you seem, are you?" Mirage's voice purred in soft amusement against his abdominal plating, right above his interface, and Cliffjumper squirmed... from the amusement, the vibration of the words against the metal, and self-concious annoyance.

"So _what_? 's gonna rile up _somebody_ , that's good enough for me..." grumbling, Cliffjumper couldn't quite keep the static from his voice or his optics from brightening in embarrassment - he couldn't believe he'd decided to do this, but the idea had crawled in somewhere between the incomprehensible and infuriating noble probably convincing him to agreeing about restraints - he wasn't sure, still - and him putting his foot down about... he thought... some sort of toys. 

He didn't have a clue.

Mirage's chuckle slid _right_ over the panel of his interface and the squirm froze partway into it, surprise at having lost track of what the noble was doing along with an aroused rev from his engine stalling him. 

"I'm not much for... exhibitionism, but I cannot refuse a demand in this..." 

Frag, had he actually used one of those there? He wasn't sure about that either, but the thought went flying with a gasped little groan when Mirage poked his tongue out and murmured 'open up' right against the panel.


	26. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper didn't expect this to happen, Mirage's reaction, OR his own.

He hadn't exactly been _serious_ when the threat had first spilled out, but then Mirage just continued _needling_ and then... Then he had the mech sprawled out over the berth (it'd just have been silly any other way), aft in his lap and... Well, after that first, hesitant smack, it was... surprisingly easy to continue.

He could tell the way Mirage braced for each blow, and after a few strikes to the same area, caught onto that and started to switch up. Optics still bright in incredulous embarrassment over the fact that he actually was _doing_ this, he couldn't deny it was... interesting.

Interesting the way Mirage squirmed, and how he could strike down on the edge between partly covered hip joints and aft and have Mirage's whole, long frame just tense and _freeze_ at the crack and following vibration. 

Interesting the way the angled lines and dips seemed to fit his palm when he hit, full on, hand moulding against curves and lines for a brief moment right after he struck down and Mirage pushed _up_. 

What was also interesting was all those little _noises_ he could tell Mirage was _trying_ not to make. Probably trying to muffle them because that wasn't _proper_ and the glitch was all about that until he wasn't. For Cliffjumper, keeping Mirage dropping those half-hitched glitched gasps or static groans was more of a reward than the crackling static and warming plating beneath and against his hand, even if that was... interesting too.

Maybe he'd let his hand linger too long along the warmed, sensitized armour as the kliks wore on, and maybe he'd interspersed the swats with teasing trailing along the edges, into the gaps to hidden hip joints where, contrary to logic considering Cliffjumper was striking the metal and the plates should be _closing up_ , they'd opened up and made it even more easier to get his smaller fingers inside. He was _still_ surprised when the cover to Mirage's valve slid open. Partly because it was the valve, partly because it'd happened at all, even if they both were, admittedly, turned on.

At least he thought he was, even if he'd never considered something like this at all. But then, it was the subtle shift of Mirage on his lap, the strain in his thighs and arms, the slight arch of his back... the _noises_ that caused the rising charge for Cliffjumper. Not hitting Mirage even if it wasn't hard enough to do any real damage, just continually compress armour down against the sensor nodes beneath to make them flare out a jumbled warning-and-tactile/pressure-feedback. He wondered, though, what _Mirage_ was getting off on, because he clearly _was_.

Pausing hesitantly, Cliffjumper bit his lower lip and then angled his hand to give a strike full to the rim of the valve and the surrounding, thinner protoform metal. Mirage _jerked_ and the moan that escaped him shot straight through Cliffjumper.

"... Ya know, you could just _say somethin'_ if this is a thing... even if... uh." Even if it got his systems running hot from something between shyness and embarrassment. Mirage pushed his aft up, moved to rest up on his elbows, and looked over his shoulder. The folded down wheelmount partially obscured his face, but not enough to loose the look completely.

"Easier... this way, isn't it? Do you... _mind_?" There was an airy little hitch in Mirage's voice and a quirk in the upper edge of an optic, and while Cliffjumper couldn't _quite_ keep Mirage's gaze, he... no, he didn't mind.

"... Gonna have to, errrr. Tell me more later, if ya actually want a repeat, though." Even if he'd probably burn up from squirming embarrassment and charge he didn't know what to do with. Mirage just hummed probable agreement and wriggled his aft. 

Huffing, Cliffjumper squirmed his legs out from underneath the noble and slid to kneel behind him. Trailing his hand around the contours of Mirage's aft and the visible parts of the hip joints, he frowned at yet another push _upwards_ and smacked, the vibration snapping up through his hand and down through Mirage, who shivered, his engine skipping.

"Stop that." If they were doing this, they were going to do it _his_ way. And then Mirage had to be patient. Just a little, anyway. It was partly uncertainty; he didn't have Mirage's skill, or... ahem, size, just because of their differences, even if they could adjust somewhat, part of it was that he was surprised at how much this was tripping charge to rush through him.

Pausing right before he slid in, one hand curling around Mirage's hip and the other... hovering, Cliffjumper hesitated---

"Cliffjumper _please_ don't stop..." that wasn't a demand, just airy, wanton _pleading_ and okay, he'd never heard _that_ exact tone before. Only almost, when he'd tied Mirage up and ridden him and refused to let him overload. That had been fun. Engine revving, Cliffjumper slid in in one full stroke.

"As long as ya... are aware I ain't got... er, your level of... _expertise_ \---" It ended on a squawk as Mirage's valve clamped down in a twisting spiral and tightened, charge deliberately crackling between them. He was going to end up feeling _inadequate_ one of these days.

"Practice makes perfect, dearspark, now---ah!" 

Cliffjumper couldn't help the vicious smirk at Mirage's surprised, unfiltered cry when he got smacked again, causing a flare of fire and charge down his circuits from the hit.

"Sure. But I know one thing; you don't get to take _that_ tone."


	27. Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage has strange toys and Cliffjumper should learn to be more wary.

He should've said no. 

Cliffjumper wasn't sure why he _hadn't_ , even if he'd been busy being curled up against Mirage in post-overload lassitude and the remnants of the charge warming his circuits. It'd been helped by the fact that even if Mirage had pulled out, he had a finger trailing and massaging the rim of his valve. And then he'd leaned down enough so he could brush his lips against Cliffjumper's audial vents as he whispered.

"I've got something here I'd like to try..."

He should've known to say no then. Especially when, after he'd slowly worked up to a frown and muttered 'what' - way too much effort after that overload - and Mirage said it was a toy he carried with him from the Towers. But dumb as he was, he'd asked what it was, and Mirage had pulled out what looked sort of like magnetic putty.

He'd stared, confused, at it for several silent moments. Then he'd tilted his helm to look at Mirage's faceplates upside down, frown going into an irritable scowl, and asked if Mirage was making fun of him, because what was that even supposed to _be_? If it had looked like some crazy spike-toy, he'd have said no.

This? 

This he wasn't even certain what it _was_ , so when Mirage chuckled and asked if he wanted to find out, the sound crawling in lazy, warm vibrations over his helm and buzzing his sensory horns, he'd... slowly and hesitantly, but finally agreed.

And then Mirage had pulled away the hand he had between Cliffjumper's legs to replace it with the hand with the ball of putty and then he'd _pushed it in_. Not that that... had really done anything. It'd felt kind of odd, yes, and sort of like he was getting his valve massaged from the inside, but he didn't really feel the size of it, or anything else.

And then Mirage had said they should recharge.

He should've _known_ something was up then, but he'd been tired and then by the morning he'd forgotten about it...

Another shot went wild as a warm, pulsing feeling that pinched every filament and massaged the nodes underneath but lacked any reciprocal charge went through his valve and Cliffjumper hurled several angry insults at the target, at the walls, at his gun, and most definitely at Mirage, though that was over the comm.

::I'M GONNA MURDER YOU, YOU HEAR ME? THE SECOND I GET THIS OUT---:: The squawk was over comm and verbally both, Bumblebee glancing over at him and Cliffjumper had been _trying_ , _really_ , not to leave and to _finish_ this--- 

But the bright charge spreading out from his valve and the slagging near _liquid_ motions of the putty, plus the fact that it was heavily expanded to press the walls of his valve out _just_ this side of too much just made it impossible not to react.

::Do try. There's a certain technique to getting it out, you see.:: Mirage laughed over the comm., tone sweet, _idle_ , as Cliffjumper stormed out of the shooting range room and towards the nearest washracks, swearing cold-circuit murder the whole time. His progress was hampered by having to suppress gasps and stop to lean against the wall every now and then. 

::By the way, I have a long-range patrol today. Routine only, not any expected encounters... I should be back later tonight.::

Later...

::MIRAGE!:: He yelled it into the silence of a disconnected connection, and while he stumbled into the washracks and locked them, it was just enough to have somewhere _private_ for the buildup, because yeah, he couldn't get that blasted thing out.

He would kill the fragger. 

_After_ he was done being tortured - pleasantly or not and this wasn't like _anything_ he'd ever felt and he would STILL KILL HIM.


	28. Noble Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Towers has its traditions, and Cliffjumper had put his foot down regarding THOSE. That should've been enough, right?
> 
> Except that "nobles" and "the Towers" intersect but aren't exactly the same.

Mirage wasn't so much old-fashioned as firmly entrenched in the traditions and practices of his level of society... and the particular area of it that the Towers was... had been. Only two others shared even remotely the similar origin for the _reason_ the Towers were made nobles.

That was neither here nor there, presently.

For the moment Mirage was slowly sliding forward across the floor, field drawn tight around himself and invisibility activated, feeling pleased he'd got past the strangely insistent night-patrols in this part of the base. 

Apparently _someone_ was paying attention.

It wouldn't really help, though, and flickers of smug satisfaction slithered along his circuits as he leaned over the berth, one hand reaching out to... no. He sat down on the edge of the berth instead, unseen optics softening at the minibot curled up on his front, one arm supporting his chin, the other arm sort of awkwardly trapped underneath his chassis.

But just _looking_ wasn't what he was here for, even if it was a pity to disturb Cliffjumper when he looked so _peaceful_. Mirage reached out again, but he'd barely even _brushed_ armour before Cliffjumper snapped into awareness, sitting up with a snarl and a gun.

Pointed somewhere off to the left of Mirage, who was, of course, still invisible. He was hard pressed not to chuckle at the recharge-heavy angry scowl that slowly melted into confusion as blue optics darted around and caught... nothing, of course.

The frustrated noise slid out of him before he caught it, but then it didn't _matter_ because there was _no one_ else here, now was there? Frowning, Cliffjumper put his gun back into subspace as he uncertainly glanced around.

He usually didn't get yanked out of recharge for _nothing_ , and he was _sure_ he'd caught the static brush of a very familiar EM field tangling with his own---

Realisation hit right when his arm was grabbed (again) despite his optics insisting on nothing being there and while he tossed himself backwards and tried to get a leg out from under him it was all for naught. 

He was expertly - and Cliffjumper would deny both the thrill of how _easily_ he was manhandled, as well as the angry flare of near-fear _nothing was wrong_ well, kind of - flipped around on his front and both arms trapped behind his back.

"Mirage, frag it! You promised none of your fraggin' Towers tslag for this!" Cliffjumper yelled, exasperated, frustrated and thoroughly thrown because Mirage _had_ promised and well...

"But this isn't a 'Towers thing', dearspark," murmured Mirage right into his audial as he leaned down close over Cliffjumper, heat, static and the crackle of intermingling EM fields blanketing the mini's back, "this is a practice particular to the noble echelons. A bit crude, perhaps, but I find it's _well within my right_."

Mirage's hand around his wrists was exchanged for a pair of cuffs while Cliffjumper sputtered.

"The slag it is---" 

Pause. 

Noble. Towers. 

In a way there was a difference. 

Cliffjumper's optics narrowed and his engine spat a noisy protest. The cheating slagger had fraggin' _split a damn optic cable_ just get to do... this? Cliffjumper was suddenly rather sure pure Towers traditions wouldn't involve the ceremonial _kidnapping_ of the partner that was younger and/or had less status - and Cliffjumper counted as both, even if their age difference was _negligent_.

"You fragging _cheater_ I'm gonna---nngh." Mirage had turned him over again, trapping one foot against the berth with a hand, and then kissed him. 

Squirming, Cliffjumper squinted, optics bright and incredulous anger still sparking down his circuits, but he let the kiss go on. Besides the reason for what was currently going on and the fact that he didn't _often_ let Mirage tie him up, it had... happened once or twice. He even let the kiss get deeper--- And then Mirage drew back and threw him over a shoulder and Cliffjumper squawked in indignation.

"It's not cheating, Cliffjumper. You specifically mentioned the Towers, not the Towers' noble status." 

Cliffjumper didn't feel bad at all for landing a kick, even if it wasn't the worst kick he'd ever given Mirage. He also didn't feel bad for hurling insults at Mirage as the mech slid out of their room, basically alerting anyone who was vaguely paying attention and had anticipated something like this, which Cliffjumper hadn't.

If Mirage wanted to play it this way, he could fragging _work_ for it. 

Though the chuckle vibrating through the noble's frame and against his own plating told him he was _amused_ , and probably even pleased at the challenge. 

Slag it all.

And oh, fine, as Mirage worked himself through the _Ark_ 's corridors, Cliffjumper could admit to being at least a _little_ amused as well. Even if he was hanging off the glitching noble's shoulder.


	29. Rescues and Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage is temporarily a guest of the Decepticons, to BOTH of their displeasure.

Pacing, Cliffjumper _tried_ not to be angry as well as frustrated and worried, but it wasn't _easy_. 

All he wanted to do was punch the wall a few times - or kick it, but if he did _that_ Ratchet would probably drag him off to his room and lock him in, or off to the rec room and set (several) someones to watch over him. It was kind of surprising he'd been left alone to pace the corridor outside the medbay, actually, after Ratchet asked what he was _doing_ here, what with Mirage not being inside yet. The medic had given him an inscrutable look when he said he'd know Mirage was back the fastest if he waited here, wouldn't he, and then left him to it.

But it torqued him off so slagging badly that he hadn't been allowed to be part of the rescue party. Not because he had a _personal_ and _emotional_ investment in the rescue. No, it was all because: 'you're too short... or not short enough.'

"AUGH!" His fist stopped a shade away from slamming into the wall, and Cliffjumper growled. Just because they were going with the infiltration route on the way _in_... And Decepticons didn't really have minibots in their ranks. 

Cassettes, yes. Minibots? No.

Fraggers.

***  
After being consigned to either willingly leave the corridor outside medbay or get escorted away after Jazz, Blades and Smokescreen brought Mirage in, Cliffjumper had stormed off to the room. At least it'd turned out Mirage wasn't gravely injured or anything. In fact, besides a few lesser scrapes, cuts and dents from a preliminary working-over, he'd been... okay.

Not that Mirage trying to tell Cliffjumper that after he walked through the door had stopped the minibot from dragging him over to the berth, pushing him down, and then, with a deep scowl on his faceplates, check him over.

A check that had slowly morphed into something _else_ , and which revealed the real injury; compromised hip joints. Mirage had, actually, been escorted back to his room only on the promise of "laying down and not doing anything".

"If ya don't stop, _I'M_ gonna stop." Cliffjumper's optics narrowed in a frown and his thumbs, which had been working tiny, warm pressure in circles against the hot, damaged-but-repairing hip joints, stopped. 

Mirage huffed.

"I believe I know my own limits perfectly well, Cliffjumper. Now, are you---"

"Nope." Fitting his hands along the gaps and angles around the armour of Mirage's hips, his hands were small enough to not cover the plate with enough pressure to worsen anything, but large enough to, with a careful application of strength unless Mirage wanted to further injure _himself_ , immobilise his hips against Cliffjumper's.

Mirage tried to wriggle, but the warm weight was going nowhere, and with his thighs up against Cliffjumper's chassis and his lower legs tossed over Cliffjumper's shoulders, he didn't have any leverage.

"You are _insufferable_ and I'll have you know I am not as delicate as I look," said Mirage, tone dire and his golden optics bright. There was also a whine (he'd forever deny it) underneath the severe tone because Cliffjumper _needed to move_.

"Uh-huh. Tell that to Ratchet. Or I could tie ya up an' ride you... though that'd prob'ly put too much weight on your hips." Cliffjumper said with a slight frown, disappointed by the missed opportunity... especially as Mirage sort of _vibrated_ against him, the valve clutching his spike spiralling and twisting in a way that had Cliffjumper's cooling fans stutter.

"... Later. Now _finish_ what you started," pausing, Mirage's optics flared and then flickered in a near dizzying, pretty little display, "I promise I'll be good."

Cliffjumper stared, and then snorted. He'd just been _simpered at_. 

This fragging mech.

"Remember ya promised. I don't want you movin' a single piston... or anythin' else, unless it's your valveeeehh!" The sentence ended on a squeak as Mirage _somehow_ did a brief reverse polarity and sent the charge gathered in the workings of his valve skittering _out_ and dancing around Cliffjumper's spike.

Biting his lower lip he drew back and twirled his hips as he went in and this time, despite the way the valve clutched at him, Mirage remained _still_ besides throwing his helm back. He'd have gone harder, harsher, if that had been _advisable_ , but it _wasn't_. So instead Cliffjumper found himself frowning, concentrating on what he was doing and trying, slowly and precisely and with angles to catch all the different workings of Mirage's valve one bit at a time, to stroke the charge higher.

It made him - both of them, probably - strangely _aware_ of every bit of their interface equipment... And yeah, sure, he could just have used cables. He wasn't half-bad with just cable-play, really, but the idea of being able to threaten Mirage with stopping, of forcing the noble to _stay still_ where he _always_ otherwise seemed to be all over, no matter who of them did what...

The charge was heavy, threatening to bring him over, but Cliffjumper gritted his teeth and slid back in, wriggling his hips and angling upwards, catching the clump of workings that had been sort of teased up there and Mirage _gasped_ as the overload hit.


	30. Height - or Lack of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people just doesn't understand the charm.

"Y'know, I don't see it," said Sideswipe, all thoughtful near-concern as he slid in to sit beside Cliffjumper, Sunstreaker remaining standing at the table but nonetheless adding to the feeling of being trapped. Cliffjumper scowled, glaring from one twin to the other and would never admit to being relieved there were other people in the rec. room.

" _What_?" Field flickering in jerky bursts that nearly smacked into the twins' fields rudely, Cliffjumper wasn't being very charitable with his company. Sideswipe didn't seem to notice, though, and Sunstreaker had pulled out a cloth, polishing the metal of one hand's fingers, hip resting against the table.

"Well, doesn't it get _annoying_ , that you and Mirage can't do what other people can, what with that little _problem_ between you?" Sideswipe leaned in, waving a hand in the air, but he wasn't done and didn't let Cliffjumper interrupt, "there's so much you miss out on, not being able to steal kisses properly, sweep him off his feet, _not look ridiculous_ while walking next to each other..."

"Frag _off_ ," hissed Cliffjumper, hands tight around his nearly-empty cube, glaring at Sideswipe but well-aware of Sunstreaker on the other side of the table. Alone, Sideswipe wasn't so bad - annoying, but fairly tolerable - with Sunstreaker, he seemed to just get jacked up into either arguing with his twin, or being an annoyance to cause some reaction from Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker himself? Cliffjumper didn't really feel like thinking about _him_ , and just growled, engine revving in building frustration.

"It ain't any of your fraggin' _business_ \---"

"You probably can't even lift him up, if he needed you to. How does that feel, that you couldn't help him that way if he needed it? Might not weigh much, but you're hardly _Brawn_ , and even he would have issues with the _size difference_ \---"

"THE SLAG I CAN'T!" Unable to keep quiet any longer, Cliffjumper fairly erupted, vocally as well as physically, surging up in his seat and storming towards the door, where Mirage had just wandered in with Tracks.

The noble had enough time to hear the dulcet tones of a very angry minibot and let loose a faint static sigh, sharing a brief glance with Tracks before Cliffjumper stomped up to him. Opening his mouth to ask what had gotten his mini all riled up, he didn't even get the courtesy of a bit of _time_ to do that, instead being snapped at to just stand still.

And then he had one hand yanked on and a very expertly put jab at the back of a knee joint, basically forcing him to collapse down and _he had done nothing_ to deserve this treatment today (not that this would ever be warranted, _really_!)!

"Cliffjumper---" The loud, reverberating clang of Mirage not hitting the floor, but rather Cliffjumper's arms drew the attention of anyone who _hadn't_ been watching already and interrupted his perfectly germane protest. One arm going up automatically around Cliffjumper's shoulders, resting against the handy cradle made by the space between Cliffjumper's neck and the back-kibble, Mirage huffed.

"What in the name of Cybertron _brought this on_? I was going to have a drink, Cliffjumper." He could have said more, but they were in public, so instead his tone and darkened optics would have to speak for him.

"... Just. showin'. that I _can_ fraggin' well do this." Cliffjumper gritted out between angry revs of his engine that was as much emotion as it was surges of power as the minibot continually had to shift his stance slightly to counteract the sheer size of Mirage's partially folded up frame in his arms.

If he pressed down, he could force Cliffjumper to let go of his legs, but Mirage let go of that venture for the moment and glanced around the room, catching sight of the twins at the table Cliffjumper usually sat at when he had none of his usual company around for whatever reason.

Ah. That explained things. Well, not precisely, but it was beginning to shed light on the situation.

"You can't even _move_ like that!" Sideswipe yelled from his seat, optics bright and grin shameless, and Mirage didn't _really_ need to have Cliffjumper roar ' _shut up_!' right in his audios, and then actually try to _move_.

They swayed rather alarmingly as Cliffjumper swept a foot out, and there was no _way_ Cliffjumper would be able to finish that step without pitching them both forwards onto the floor. Mirage was _quite done_ with this folly and yanked the leg furthest out away from Cliffjumper and set it down on the floor, turning around in the same movement.

He _hated_ all those little jeers and pokes that came about from the differences between him and Mirage and this time he was _determined_ to show that even _with those_ , he could do what might be needed---

And then the weight of Mirage, wrongly spread out due to that slagging height difference, shifted as he slid one foot forward and he _knew_ they were going to end up on the floor, Mirage first and he was going to be in a right snit, frag it all--

"Wh---" Cliffjumper sputtered, confused, as they suddenly weren't falling _forwards_ , but rather he suddenly had a lot of weight pushing him _backwards_ , and already off-balance as he was, Cliffjumper lost his footing and hit the floor.

On the other side of the room the twins jeered, and he was pretty sure he could hear a few others laughing as well. 

Field swelling with his anger and frustration, Cliffjumper pushed at Mirage who had, for some incomprehensible reason come down along with him. Really, Cliffjumper had expected Mirage to spill him on the floor in retaliation for doing that stupid attempt at lifting him up in public and then be done with it, but that didn't seem to be it.

"Mirage, _get off_." Snapping, Cliffjumper pushed at Mirage's chestplates again, but then had one large, black hand snake around his wrists and keep them still, while Mirage's other hand tipped his chin back and then there were warm, dry lips against his, and a slightly charged tongue poking inside his mouth.

Thoroughly confused, Cliffjumper let out a noise that danced vibration around their tongues and chased up static while Mirage just pressed further in, and Cliffjumper was vaguely aware the noble was sort of curled around him like some cyber-cat with a favoured toy, field flexing.

No one was laughing anymore, though Cliffjumper wasn't paying attention to _that_ , especially not when Mirage drew back a klik later and stood up, hauling the minibot with him and tossing him over a shoulder.

"The frag---! MIRAGE. Put. me. down!"

"No, I think some people in here have expended their rights to be in your presence, especially if they're small-minded enough not to see the _perks_... Ah, thank you, Tracks." Mirage smiled, gracious and bright, at the other mech as he was handed a full cube, and then wandered out of the rec. room and the rather stunned silence, Cliffjumper's yelling suddenly broken off into sputtered static.

Mirage _may_ have squeezed his aft. But only to keep him still. He wasn't _crude_ after all.


	31. Toys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage likes surprising Cliffjumper with the toys he has... it usually works out very well after all.

It had _begun_ quite normally, Mirage's hand stuck under his left front leg kibble and stroking the knee joint, the leg resting up along Mirage's frame while he slid slowly, _annoyingly slowly_ inside.

" _Mirage_ , we ain't got _all_ night," Cliffjumper hissed, one hand clutching at Mirage's free one, fingers stroking down into the wrist joint, while his other clutched the the berth's covering. If Mirage didn't stop being slow, though, he'd start using that hand for something _else_.

"Patience _does_ get rewarded, dearspark. Even if, given, you seem to have a talent for hitting impatience when it does end up paying off. I don't have that much purified and blessed spark-warming circuit charge around, however." Mirage smiled, sharply amused and shameless, and Cliffjumper scowled, fingers digging hard enough into the wrist joint the noble winced.

"I'll give you _impatient_ , ya fragger! Why'd you bring _that up_ \---" Cliffjumper's optics slowly grew wide as his vocaliser glitched into silence and the hand he'd brought up to point at Mirage squeezed into a tight fist and then dropped back on the berth.

"Yes? You were saying? Do tell me if it gets too much..."

Mirage had, in his first, slow passes, not gone the whole way in and withdrawn halfway - he did that sometimes, in Cliffjumper's opinion just to be annoying - and when he slowly went in fully after that, his spike... widened its girth as it went in. Cliffjumper had frozen, vocaliser spitting static while he mouthed wordlessly as his valve fluttered and expanded slowly outwards with every shade Mirage slid _inwards_.

Fully seated, Mirage paused, Cliffjumper's wide, bright optics met Mirage's warmly lit ones. Cliffjumper would have expressed his sneering, squirming defensiveness over the bright affection and lust glowing brightly from those optics. 

He would have, if the spike, large enough now it was definitely nudging at the limits of how far his valve could go, hadn't _pulsed_ , from the base where the strange attachment he'd just ignored earlier was, up to the very tip, deep inside.

The minibot _jerked_ , clutching at berth, Mirage's wrist and the spike at the same time, Mirage's shuddering groan in response was drowned by the airy warble that more came from Cliffjumper's engine than his vocaliser.

"I-if ya don't move..." It took a few moments until that came out, and Mirage waited longer still, even if the spike pulsed once or twice more during that, making Cliffjumper shudder and twist most _delightfully_ around him. But he waited until the widened optics weren't _quite_ so overly bright, and the arousal weighed out the dumbstruck hesitation that had been obvious.

He didn't want to overwhelm Cliffjumper into not enjoying it, after all.

_That_ wasn't the goal in the least, and the twitch downwards of his mini's hips when he drew out and then jerked back in, was exactly what he was looking for.


	32. Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interface can be a religious experience... or at least educational.

"---This opens the blessing to dedicate the energy raised to Primus, and needs to be repeated, in full, for each stage..." 

There was a noise, which could just as well have been an impatient 'I DON'T FRAGGIN' CARE, FOR THE LOVE OF PRIMUS MIRAGE GET ON WITH IT' as an inquisitive 'interesting, tell me more' (though of course not phrased that way, this was _Cliffjumper_ after all). But it was simply lost in the half-strangled, burst-of-static gasp while small gray hands clutched at the berth.

Mirage, gracious as he was, ignored all that and slowly, exactingly, traced out the next glyph, just above Cliffjumper's plating, using the minibot's own EM field to make the impression of the glyph with his charged fingers while _his_ field fluttered around the mech, squeezed, withdrew.

Cliffjumper shuddered, twisting beneath the rush of energy against him which curled around plating that shimmering with charge, massaged it - and clamped down on it, keeping it where it was, keeping _Cliffjumper_ where he was.

Another glyph traced out, Cliffjumper's EM field sparking along Mirage's touch as he murmured the explanation of that particular glyph and how it fit in among the others, weaving them together to make the complete blessing. 

The minibot's engine warbled and his optics flared, and then he twisted but didn't move enough for Mirage to accidentally actually _touch_ his hot armour. Though that was probably more due to the way he was utterly tuned to the charged field heavy around his own, pressing down like a physical touch and keeping him on the glittering edge of overload.

Cliffjumper spat something once more and Mirage tilted his helm and hummed as he twirled his EM field around the minibot, who threw his helm back - and still the charge lingered like live lightning underneath Mirage's hands as he traced out another glyph.

A cycle and a half and counting, a smug testament to Mirage's skill... and Cliffjumper's stubbornness, even if the minibot probably _would_ like to overload. He just wasn't sure how to get there, or what to ask anymore.


	33. Glyphs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely connected to the previous chapter, in that it goes in the same vein of religion and sex.

He'd intended to say something else, to _ask_ for something else, but when he'd seen the scuffed and in some places faded glyphs, what had come out was an embarrassingly stuttered request to help Mirage fix it. And then Cliffjumper immediately burst out with a "forget it!" and _almost_ missed Mirage's pleased "of course" and the slow, wide smile.

Of course, Mirage had expected to have to go to Tracks to get the glyphs reapplied properly in the end, because while Cliffjumper (delightfully enough) appreciated them in a way he'd not accept many to do and still tied back to the glyphs having their proper religious context. It was okay merely because he knew where Cliffjumper's reactions came from, and that, in a roundabout way, it _was_ tied as much to interface as religion and worship for Cliffjumper as they were for Mirage, if in a slightly different way.

Most, otherwise, would only see the connection to interface, which, while it was a vital part, wasn't _all_ there was.

Surprisingly enough, however, Cliffjumper hadn't just _listened_ and glared with narrow concentration at each glyph. No, he was also rather sure-handed. Even when the pure, exacting ceremony slid down into not just the glyphs decorating and worshipping Mirage's frame, or Mirage, through the glyphs, showing his respect and connection to Primus, but Cliffjumper inevitably (though not while working on a glyph) "slipped" and the charge changed.

What Mirage definitely liked though, was that Cliffjumper hadn't _stopped_. 

One of Mirage's legs were curled around Cliffjumper's waist, the other laid along Cliffjumper's chassis and his knee swung over one of Cliffjumper's shoulders, and despite the maddeningly slow, carefully angled strokes that alternated with jarringly fast and hard, shallow ones, and the muffled groaning... Cliffjumper's hands were steady on Mirage's thigh, holding it still to muffle and harmlessly spread the vibrations from his thrusts, and the other hand carefully carving the glyphs. Mirage, his hands having to do most of his twisting for him not to ruin the work, was surprised he had to work as hard as he did to not ruin the blessings he had to say with the moans that wanted to spill out.

Especially when his infernal little mini twisted his hips and apparently had gotten good enough to control the filaments and plates along his spike in a rough and simple flickering motion that made Mirage toss his helm back, luckily managing to gasp out the last of the current strophe of blessing before he ruined it with the strut-deep moan and his engine revving.


	34. A Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A situation leaves Cliffjumper very relieved Mirage is still alive. Mirage deals with the aftermath.

It took a lot to rattle Cliffjumper. 

Further, it took quite a bit more than just rattling him to make him _admit_ that he'd gotten rattled. Which was why Mirage was trapped in the corner of one of the couches in the recreation area, not even in _private_ , with a tiny red lump in his lap. 

Cliffjumper's knees were locked around his hips, faceplates mashed up against his chestplates, conveniently spark-chamber height, and the only reason he hadn't removed them from their seat was because one of Cliffjumper's hands were partly buried in one of his hip joints. Not that he really minded displaying affection in public, was quite enamoured of it in fact, but not... quite this flavour of it. Further, he'd also already had the 'pleasure' of feeling his captured hip go completely numb when Cliffjumper pinched him when he'd tried to move.

So half-laying there it was, Cliffjumper's other hand trailing up and down his side, engine rumbling against him. After two breems, he'd pulled up one leg to partly hook around the minibot's back, pressing against the armour. After three breems and two kliks, he was stroking along red armour in counterpoint to Cliffjumper's caress, and their fields had synchronised and flowed around them in a fluctuation that was as much a caress as what their hands were doing.

No one else could hear the steady stream of muted, filthy _insults_ Cliffjumper was muttering into his armour even as he clung like a magnetised bit of metal to Mirage.


	35. Sick I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage comes down with a virus and Cliffjumper has to find him before he can even try to *care* for him.

"Frag, frag, frag... _frag_." The litany continued in his processor while he searched, switching between altmode driving and rootmode running, seriously hoping Mirage hadn't collapsed somewhere while he was _invisible_.

How the _slag_ the glitching noble couldn't have had a definition or his firewall popping into activity for this particular virus, Cliffjumper didn't understand. It was a _protoform basic_! 

Of course, the fact that the virus was free on Earth was admittedly strange as well, but they'd traced it back to the Aerialbots, and while they _had_ had caretakers share their firewalls and definitions, usually this virus was one of a group that needed a separate patch, unless you were naturally immune.

And, somehow, the Aerialbots hadn't ever gotten that, which now had led to a small number of the Ark crew, the Aerialbots included, downed with the virus. Probably as it got passed by one of the immune ones - which meant Cliffjumper himself could be the origin, because he _was_ immune but he wasn't he _only_ one. How the slag the Aerialbots hadn't gotten the basic patches was... actually not so much of a mystery.

Ratchet wasn't your everyday medic for a clinic, at least not before the Ark crashed on Earth. Before the war, he'd been a surgeon and mod supervisor. A particularly brilliant one at that, which had gotten him noticed in wider circles, which led to him being the medical advisor to the Primacy. 

This wasn't a mech used to playing nursemaid, or even _wanting_ to do it; it wasn't what he'd educated himself for. Which meant that when the Aerialbots got created, while they'd gotten the standard caretaker-protoform relationship settled and all that went with that, the basic, medic things got missed.

Mirage, the twins, the Aerialbots... and the Prime, were down. Mirage had been out on patrol, and hadn't come back. 

Or responded. 

"Fraggin' _pit_ ," Cliffjumper spat, transforming in one go and running even before he hit the ground as he caught sight of blue and white armour. Not invisible, no, but that was a small mercy in the greater pattern of things. "You better not burn through before we get ya back, you hear me?" hissed Cliffjumper as he knelt by the noble, hands hovering above the armour, swearing.

The glitch was _radiating_ heat, well in the grip of the virus. The virus tended to completely whack out cooling and internal temperature readings, either ending up with the mech feeling and thinking they were running too hot and thus burning through energon by blasting cooling systems to keep "cool", or, on the opposite end, feeling cold and thinking they were running cooler than they were and _stopped fragging cooling themselves_.

The former was mostly an annoyance for everybody around them as the mechs whined they felt hot, but were usually okay as long as there was energon until their systems reset. The latter was fragging _lethal_ \---

"Wh--- MIRAGE. LET GO!" 

"... _cold_." 

Flailing didn't help him, and he didn't _actually_ want to punch or kick the glitching mech, but even so, Cliffjumper could've taken a Mirage slow and sluggish with virus, especially as his frame struggled with keeping cool. But the fact was Mirage was still spec. ops and Cliffjumper's reluctance meant he'd been neatly tucked up under Mirage before he'd thought up some _other_ way to get free besides violence.

"Fraggin' _pit_. You ain't cold, Mirage, _move_." Snarling, Cliffjumper attempted to get Mirage off himself, but he was _well and truly stuck_ , and then his cooling systems burst into activity from the heat Mirage was fairly blanketing him with.

His only answer was the faintest of whines and Mirage's limbs tightening, a scorching nasal ridge pushed against his neck. If the glitches who came to pick them up laughed, he'd murder them all.

This was not funny.

In the end, it was an uncomfortable but non-lethal two days as the thermostat in Mirage's room was cranked high enough he stopped thinking and feeling like he was cold and actually started running his cooling systems voluntarily instead of manually shutting it down. Cliffjumper still had to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to dodge a _surprisingly nimble_ Mirage to avoid ending up in the position Mirage had gotten him into when he found him.

He didn't technically _object_ to it; it was actually a nice way to recharge, and the one or two times they'd needed the support... 

But he was actually _trying_ to help and keep Mirage fuelled and whatelse, which wasn't easy to do when he was trapped underneath a noble that, while he wasn't heavy enough to be _unmovable_ , certainly was knowledgable enough to pin the minibot down, even when fuzzy and slow from the virus.

It was _supremely annoying_ and he always ended up having to ping someone for help the three separate times it happened. At the end of it all, tired, cold and frustrated but relieved, he'd angrily snapped that Mirage better never get a virus again, or at least not a _protoform_ one.


	36. Quick and Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... is what Cliffjumper wanted, anyway.

Cliffjumper felt very smug as he looked down at Mirage, and _maybe_ the altmode he'd gotten when things had settled wasn't all bad. It made it easier to tie him up, at any rate; each of his hands tied to the wheels sprouting out of his shoulders, making a rather pretty display.

But he wasn't here to look at Mirage being _pretty_ , even if he did that very well. If that was all he wanted he had every slagging day to do _that_.

No, what he was here for was why both of their engines were running hot, Mirage's EM field flaring out and around him intermittently, and Cliffjumper grinned smugly and rubbed the heel of his hand against Mirage's panel.

"Open up. You ain't gonna be taking _forever_ this time," Cliffjumper demanded with a huff, twirling his thumb over the metal and it obligingly slid back, Mirage looking down his frame at him with a glint in his golden optics Cliffjumper decided to ignore.

"There's a _reason_ for that, I'll have you know, but if you want quick and dirty..." Mirage wiggled his hips and his spike was sparking with the beginnings of charge which clung to the protoform.

"Oh yeah? Could've fooled me unless that reason is you bein' a glitch and annoyin' me by getting me even _more_ revved up than I already am," Cliffjumper said as he shifted up over Mirage's thighs, running his fingers down the spike and then settled himself above the spike, hovering.

Mirage's grin was shameless, and Cliffjumper sat down enough so the rim of his valve scraped the tip of the spike, causing a snap of charge to briefly connect.

"Oh, I would _never_."

Lies.

Cliffjumper scowled, squirmed and almost sat down, engine and cooling systems both running and he wanted this hard and _fast_ , frag it all---

"I'm just taking my time because you _deserve_ it, you know." Mirage's smile was slow and deep and his optics burnished gold, arresting Cliffjumper right then and there and he would _not_ blush... 

"You're precious, and I want to take my time to enjoy you, our time together, and how I react to you," Mirage continued, his voice warm and softly thrumming, and Cliffjumper _tried_ to hold his gaze but _couldn't_ , and he knew he was blushing, his field fluctuating wildly in irregular pulses as his optics brightened.

"Frag it, Mirage." But his protest lacked heat, and he just _knew_ Mirage was now grinning perfectly unrepentantly.

"As you say, dearspark." Mirage thrust up, scraping the tip of the spike with its many connections against the rim and Cliffjumper jerked, huffed and dropped his weight.

He'd have what he wanted, and Mirage being _sappy_ wouldn't stop him!


	37. Taking a Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Cybertron is restored, Mirage is busy. Busy enough it spurs Cliffjumper into trying to do something about it.

It'd taken a _lot_ of badgering and cajoling, some bribing and a few outright demands, but he'd _finally_ gotten Mirage out of his office - and not because the glitch was going to a meeting or hosting one, either.

No, he'd managed to get the frustrating mech _out_ with him. 

Out of the sprawling Iacon apartment, out of the _city_. Nature gazing and hiking wasn't really Cliffjumper's thing, but he knew Mirage had worked _hard_ on getting the crystal forest preserve outside Iacon up and running and kept out of the hands of anyone else who might want to turn it into something else.

He also knew the mech hadn't been there since the dedication ceremony half a vorn back. 

Putting on speed, Cliffjumper passed Mirage to the noble's indignant cry, but Cliffjumper also immediately veered off on a side path that passed underneath hanging crystals growing on cable vines. A shortcut, and Cliffjumper laughed and pointed it out to Mirage over radio, who huffed, voice snootily tight and said that _he_ didn't need any shortcuts.

Cliffjumper revved his engine and sputtered static over the radio, but he wasn't really serious - there was a _reason_ he'd taken the short-cut, and not because he wanted to win (which he totally could do without the short-cut, so there). Not today, anyway.

With a mental grin, Cliffjumper idled on the cliff the path cut above the regular racing path that went through the preserve, waiting...

There!

With a fierce cry, he gunned his engine and flew over the edge of the cliff, transforming as he fell and landing with a clattering thump on top of Mirage who - as planned - of course reacted by transforming as well.

That was when things went a bit _wrong_ , at least given what Cliffjumper had been planning. Mirage used his greater height and slender limbs to counteract Cliffjumper's somewhat heavier chassis (which he'd been counting on, especially with Mirage being surprised; they otherwise nearly weighed the same) and their tumble ended with Cliffjumper skidding to a stop on his back, on the ground.

Not on top of Mirage as he'd planned.

He didn't have the chance to do more than huff however, before there was a light slide of fingers against his cheek and Mirage's thumb against his lips as the side of his helm was cradled. He might have fought for his intended spot because there'd been a reason for that too, but the insistent, gentle pressure against his lips and the way Mirage squeezed their intertwined hands as he pressed them against the ground made him pause.

He could afford to give the glitch a moment, but _then_ he would take the matter into his own hands.

"I seem to have been delinquent in some important matters," Mirage started and Cliffjumper narrowed his optics, lips twisting slightly beneath the thumb. If Mirage said what he appeared to be saying, he'd be kicking the scum-guzzler's thin-plated and attractive aft to the Rust Sea and back---

"I apologise. I've been neglecting you. Being busy with important issues isn't much of an excuse if I can't take time for what's _most_ important, after all." Mirage's optics turned burnished gold and Cliffjumper tugged him down, but didn't have to yank him down as far as he otherwise would need to, even with Mirage curled above him - he was already leaning down.

When their lips met, Cliffjumper figured that maybe he wouldn't have to fight for the spot he'd intended, because this worked just as well.

::As long as ya _remember_ that.:: Cliffjumper huffed, and he'd never admit to having been frustrated and a bit hurt at Mirage's... schedule lately, and _maybe_ Mirage was actually sorry because he just chuckled slightly, the sound buzzing over their tongues.

The sound and taste was distinctly apologetic.


	38. Company Necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper and Mirage at a noble function.

"Ah, _frag off_ ," Cliffjumper snarled, and he _knew_ that was much too 'coarse' for the location and the setting and... well, _everything_ , but then so was _he_ and yet here he was. 

The gaunt and yet _somehow_ elegant noble - hover bike altmode with some sort of short-range flight mods, the show-off - slid a step closer, golden optics amber-shaded and lit from within with a glow that was decidedly...

He wasn't sure. But he also wouldn't _retreat_ , because _slag that scrap_. Even if the mech made his circuits crawl, and that wasn't just because he had the fragger's EM field sliding up against his own _just_ that shade of polite. 

Knew how to play it, ugh.

"Company is required, however." His voice was smooth, pleasant, and Cliffjumper bristled but couldn't really figure out _why_. He only knew that he didn't like that tone, for some reason, and if the glass-armoured glitch thought that hand would be laid on _his_ shoulder without any protest he had another thing coming and _slag_ the situatio---

"Gah---" Luckily that was said very quietly, and luckily (for the mech behind him) he recognised the EM field that didn't just slide against his, but thrust forwards and _around him_ , nearly snapping static against the noble in front of Cliffjumper. Also far more possessive than the hands, large enough to cover his upper arms if they'd been laid there instead of curling on his shoulders.

"Company which I do believe he already _has_." Pleasant tone, yes. Undercurrent of predatory sizing-up and fingers itching for a weapon? Check. Cliffjumper wasn't sure why Mirage was _quite_ this charged up and revving to go from _this_ one talking to him. Or even almost touching him.

But okay. He could deal with that. 

He did huff, though, and crossed his arms over his chest, casting a glare first at the noble in front of him, and then a squinted back up at the noble _behind him_ , even as he leaned back slightly.

Mirage just smiled, the picture of serenity despite what he'd just done, and the tension Cliffjumper could still feel.


	39. Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage expresses an opinion, Cliffjumper doesn't agree.

It was one of those times when he was just sitting around, _minding his own business_ , and suddenly the chair just disappeared beneath him. He hated those times. It was a good thing that surprise locked joints up, because otherwise his perfectly good energon cube would've met a messy end on the floor--

"What the slag-spouting scrap, Mirage!?"

Some of it still splattered out and decorated the floor and even their frames as said noble swung him around like he was a human parent swinging their young child - not an image he needed, thank you.

"Gah---!" Clutching the cube to his chestplates as he was fully scooped up in Mirage's arms and a warm pair of lips pressed against the front of his helm, annoyance warred with a warm, static-like little wriggle somewhere in the circuitry around his spark chamber.

"You. Are adorable."

Annoyance it was, the corners of his optics twitching even as his field flickered and flared and his optics did the same, Cliffjumper being unable to contain the blush.

"I'm fraggin' well not!"


	40. Lack of Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage really should pay attention to what's important.

"Where did---ah!" his vocaliser broke up into static as smaller fingers scratched along the rim of his spark chamber, none too gently, at the same time as Cliffjumper went _down_. "---come-e..." He couldn't quite finish, but by the snappy flex of Cliffjumper's field, he'd understood anyway.

"Had to--- get your attention... _somehow_ ," Cliffjumper hissed as he rose upwards, optics flickering not just with the stretching flex and contraction of his valve, but... ah yes. That was definitely something like _petulance_ there, Mirage could hear that even if he was quite... ahem, busy, and his hands flexed automatically.

Uselessly.

Right. The rope. As the heel of Cliffjumper's hand pressed down right over the flaring sphere of his spark and he _twisted_ from the shuddery snap of energy and Cliffjumper dropped down again, Mirage had the dim thought that he'd have to make sure to pay some more attention to his mini. 

Even if this was an utterly delightful way of being reminded he'd been... neglectful, the sentiment it had come from wouldn't do.

"AH!"

"Pay _attention_ , fraggit!"

Ahem. This first, more attention later.

Yes.


	41. Beauty and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty and the Beast AU.
> 
> It's basically two ficlets from different points in the story, which undoubtedly was intended (and might be at some point) to be a whole fic, but so far this is it.

It was late and Cliffjumper was tried, but frag him if he spent the night in snooty wealthy religious central, otherwise known as Crystal City. Even if he wouldn't have to pay so much as half a chit of a shanix because his latest client had offered it as a bonus to his pay for a successful delivery.

Cliffjumper had, however, declined. 

Probably not as gracefully as he 'should', but frag that. He hadn't cursed the noble out or anything, so that ought to be good enough, right? 

But that meant cruising on the highway that led to the trans-continental bridge between Crystal City's area of the Neutral Territories into Praxus, Moon Alpha was high in the sky with a double halo of reflected sunlight around it, nearly drowning out the light of it's own internal workings, and Moon Beta was barely peeking over the horizon, the combined light casting the tiered flats on each side of the road in dizzying, sharp contrast.

All he needed to do was get across the bridge because there was lodge set right into the continental wall around and under (and partly into) the base of the bridge, but right now that seemed _really_ far away, especially with the soft, humming fuzz of his processor's activity gearing down, attempting to start recharge protocols and Cliffjumper having to manually override them.

The only reason he didn't miss the group to the left off the road, almost completely hidden in the shade of one terrace and the next, was because of the flashes of light.

Lasers.

And Cliffjumper knew he shouldn't stop, it wasn't _his_ business and anyone out in the middle of the night shooting the landscape up just wasn't up to any good. It was easy to deduct that, since even with the proximity to Crystal City, this area wasn't part of the nobles' turbofox hunting grounds.

He skidded to a stop anyway, transforming even as he did so, scraping his palms along the ground the last few mechanometers as he wobbled upright. Pausing at the edge to scowl down at the group below, Cliffjumper could pick out six mechs of varying altmodes, not awesome odds that... all right and then... he couldn't tell _what_ they were aiming at, but they were sure aiming at _something_ and more than one of them even had a light whip.

Another nano-klik of hesitation and then he vaulted off the highway and scampered down the terrace, taking a flying leap off the edge and landing between the six and their target, letting loose a flare at the same time.

It illuminated them all briefly in sharp green, and Cliffjumper _knew_ he was lucky they had the sense to stop shooting when the flare went off.

"The frag? Scram, squirt. We ain't doin' anythin' _illegal_ here, and shouldn't all good little minis be in recharge by now, anyway?"

At first look, they looked like punks. The sort of well-polished glitches that roamed the edges of Crystal City, made up of wanna-be thugs, mafia and bored noble protoforms not yet past their third vorn. Of course, that didn't mean they weren't _dangerous_ , and Cliffjumper was... mildly at a disadvantage here.

"Yeah?" Scowling, Cliffjumper folded his arms, keeping his optics on the six, but he also _really_ wanted to get a look behind him to see what they'd been shooting at. But turning so much as his head right now was probably way dumber than he'd already been, and he wasn't _quite_ that dumb. 

"This ain't private territory, so I think I've got all the right to check out what's goin' on, what with the _guns_ and all. You even got _permits_ to carry those?"

Undoubtedly they did, by their smirks, and one of them trailed the now-deactivated line of light whip around his fingers, the smirk widening into something more unpleasant. Cliffjumper dug his feet in, even as he couldn't quite stop his EM field from flaring out in little prickling twitches.

"Sure we do. We could show you, if you want. We're good at handling our _weapons_..." that trailing off wasn't suggestive _in the least_ , nope. Cliffjumper _hissed_ , engine sputtering and he was losing control of the situation - not that he'd had much from the start.

One of them took a step forward and Cliffjumper tensed his arms.

"I've got two more fraggin' flares ready. Official courier flares, and if ya don't slaggin' scram, you overly polished, armourneckin' joyriders, I'm gonna have Enforces here in less than a breem." 

Sure, they'd probably believe any of these mechs if any one of them was an actual noble over him, but he did have _some_ weight and recourse from being a courier. Especially as he was one that could show he'd _just_ finished a delivery for a very well-respected and influential member of one the Towers. If nothing else, he could probably call that mech up and demand that as his bonus. Protection and all.

"... You're not lying." All of them had remembered the sharp, violent green of the first flare. Cliffjumper smirked and kept his narrow optics on the speaker, not on the glitch to the left who kept playing with the unlighted length of the whip and leering at him.

"Nope. Frag off. I've got less to lose by callin' the Enforces here than you do, I think, but since ya ain't _illegal _do you wanna test that?" said Cliffjumper and, amazingly, _miraculously_ , after a brief hesitation and looks cast at whatever it was behind Cliffjumper, they _did_ leave.__

__"... Primus." He'd insist the rattling ex-vent wasn't as shaky as it had been, and Cliffjumper scrubbed a hand down his faceplates well after their tail-lights had faded into nothing and turned around._ _

__"... Slaggin' pit-scum and sludge suckers," hissed Cliffjumper as he ran over and knelt down. So, okay, technically this probably wasn't illegal, because Cliffjumper wasn't sure what city-states had laws against mechanimal cruelty or not, but _he_ would certainly consider this illegal!_ _

__The poor cyber cat was lacerated with burns and more or less deep and partly melted lashes from the light whips, and the laser shots that had hit had obviously been meant to cause pain and probably temporary stunning and paralysis, not kill._ _

__Grimacing, Cliffjumper hesitantly brushed his hand above the cat, wondering if he dared to touch it. It didn't look like it was near death, at least not in the bad light of night, but... what _could_ he touch and not cause more pain? _ _

__There was also some strange weaving flicker of its colours and Cliffjumper easily found the little electronic paint job button. It was broken, which was the reason for the flickering, but since Cliffjumper hadn't bothered to change his night vision to include colour, he had no idea what the cat's natural colours were or what the electronic paint job's colours were._ _

__With a shrug, he yanked it off and the flickering stabilised into a pale reflective that was probably white, and something darker, richer. He'd see later. The only thing he didn't like was that that electronic paint job probably meant the cyber cat had been a pet, but unless it was chipped he'd never find the owner..._ _

__"Well. One thing at a time, I suppose. Fraggers." With another scowl, Cliffjumper finally just stuck his arms around the cat and lifted it up, ignoring the weak, warbling little hiss, especially as it couldn't do more than twitch its arms with those sharp claws._ _

__Cliffjumper wasn't sure if he was relieved the claws looked kind of dulled. It did make sense if it was a pet, since a cyber cat's claws in its natural state were lethal weapons, but something still sat wrongly with him._ _

__"Yeah, yeah, I'm just _helpin' _so stop complainin'. Not that I don't get ya."___ _

____It took around half a joor longer for him to get to that stupid lodge, and then yet another cycle before he had a room just to have a medic - who complained but did look the cat over - check the animal and declare it'd live and heal up._ _ _ _

____\---  
"What the _frag_..." Cliffjumper stared, finger rubbing against something that definitely shouldn't be wedged underneath the edge of the head at the back of the cyber cat's neck. Besides being uncomfortable, there just... wasn't supposed to be anything there, period._ _ _ _

____Frowning, he gently pulled at it and the cat was curiously accepting of this, pet or no. Cyber cats weren't exactly known for their completely tame and accommodating behaviour or nature, but there was nary a squeak out of _this one_ \---_ _ _ _

____"... _mode lock_?" Cliffjumped hissed, staring at the tiny device in his hand and that _couldn't_ be right. But anyone knew what a mode lock looked like, if just from holovids. It was quite a favoured and cliche plot point, and apparently he didn't just have his hands on someone's _pet_ but probably a _symbiote_ or something. _ _ _ _

____Which didn't make anything better._ _ _ _

____"Scum guzzlers," snarled Cliffjumper as he wriggled the thing loose from its spot, heedless of the warm solvent still flowing down. The mode lock finally loosened with a crack and a scrape of metal, and suddenly he had a very wriggly cyber cat - no, a _transforming_ one, but..._ _ _ _

____"... the frag!" Cliffjumper fell back, optics widening as the cyber cat didn't just _transform_ , but also _mass converted_ and not just a _little_... _ _ _ _

____The rounded, squat limbs folded out and _lengthened_ , curving elegantly where the cat had been more about raw power than the delicacy implied here, partly obscured by steam or not. _ _ _ _

____The head opened up impossibly wide and then split apart, the jaws separating up and downwards to create an actual helm. The lower jaw then split apart, the watery light in the washracks reflecting off sharp, elegant lines and glowing, golden optics._ _ _ _

____The long claws that were the paws folded back, allowing more functional hands and feet to fold forward and Cliffjumper was aware he was probably gaping really stupidly, but slag, who would hold it against him? The cyber cat had just turned out to be some slender mech at an average height to a cybertronian compared to a minibot, and not the size of a symbiote._ _ _ _

____"WHAT THE SLAG?!" Yelling, Cliffjumper scrambled back a little, unable to tell if the warble of his engine was surprise or because it was hard to not notice the lines and angles and---_ _ _ _

____"Thank you."_ _ _ _

____Close._ _ _ _

____TOO CLOSE._ _ _ _

____Cliffjumper stared as the mech swooped down, the tips of their nasal ridges nearly touching. The rumble in the mech's voice, low and smooth, echoed not just his engine, but also and probably inadvertently, the purring he used to do._ _ _ _


	42. Sparked and Carrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage is carrying a newspark, Cliffjumper... doesn't know what's going on (that is, he's creating a protoform egg).

Rubbing aching joints that hadn't really been relieved by the hot shower - a better thing would be a bath to soak in, but the Ark was a ship in need of conservíng space, not a home, and they'd not taken to changing the ship _that_ much - Mirage stepped through the door and frowned at the view presented.

Cliffjumper swore as a pulsing blue light shut off and then twirled around in his seat on the berth, optics wide and one hand curled in on itself.

"Uh... hey Mirage. Feeling any better?" the mini tilted his helm, the bright (guilty) glow of his optics dimming as concern slid into place of... whatever had been there before. Mirage frowned.

"Honestly? No. But there's not much to do about excess charge through my circuitry and joints, or the newspark's effect on my field," he sighed, shaking his helm, "what were you doing?"

And just like that, Cliffjumper sort of _tensed_ , and shook his helm, nearly jerkily. 

"Nothin'! Just... had to check something. It's not important. Want me to go get some energon?"

Mirage had planned to push the issue, but an offer like that didn't happen often - usually Cliffjumper would just drag him along if they were free at the same time, or declare he needed to refuel, which was an implicit invitation to come along.

Right now though, simply _getting energon_ without having to walk all the way to the rec. room sounded terrific.

"Yes please." And he couldn't quite _not_ smile at the instant little perk as Cliffjumper jumped off the berth, obviously pleased with being able to do _something_ that, however simple, would help. Mirage sat down on the berth while Cliffjumper left, then frowned and picked up the item he'd accidentally sat down on.

... human... mirror? What _had_ Cliffjumper even been doing he needed a hand-held mirror?

\---

Cliffjumper knew he should go to Ratchet. In fact, he should probably have gone to Ratchet a while ago, but _frag it all_ he'd just hoped it would all _fix itself_ and _go away_. He didn't want to deal with whatever this was - wasn't Mirage carrying a blasted _newspark_ enough?

Cliffjumper _also_ knew you shouldn't really mess around with issues regarding your spark or the spark chamber cavity, but he'd held out hope it was just... some sort of stress-related glitch that had made protoform (he thought that was what it was, anyway) start to push through the circuitry connecting to the spark chamber and deposit oddly.

But he was getting oddly _tired_ and the normal rations of energon, calculated for them all to keep them at either good or peak operational capacity, never seemed enough anymore. But why _those_ would be issues when there was a lump of protoform which shouldn't be where it was was the real issue, he didn't have a clue.

So maybe he should finally go to Ratchet after he was done in the rec. room. And try not to stare at Bee and Beachcomber's still half-full energon cubes, since his own was already empty. He just didn't _get it_.


	43. Knots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of bondage.

He squirms and Mirage pauses minutely, looking up to give him a stare. It's not even a glare and the hand on his knee is gentle, stroking over the joint, but the look's got weight. 

He huffs, optics soon growing brighter the longer the stare goes on, and then drops to look somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else, but none of it can distract from the warm little points of pressure where there's multiple knots in simple star-shaped patters around every fraggin' joint, not to talk about the pattern woven around and between his horns.

"It's just---" Then he cuts himself off, engine growling. Mirage pats the tip of his bumper, and Cliffjumper refuses to look up into what he _knows_ is a fond smile. It also carries more heat than Cliffjumper can take gracefully now.

Not that he's taking this very _gracefully_ at all, but the energon rope is like little lines of heat coalescing into the knots, and there's just this... _this pressure_ on his horns that make them buzz which goes right down to his circuitry. 

And then there's a complicated pattern of simple, double and whatever-else knots centered over his chestplates, right above where his spark chamber is, and also _another_ similar pattern _lower_ , around not just interface but his bare hips joints and---

" _Mirageeeee_..." He can't manage demanding. He can't even manage _offended_ , it just comes out in a weightless little groan as he squirms again, the knots pressing down and creating a pattern of pleasure all over.

"Mmhm, I know." 

_What_ Mirage supposedly knows he doesn't explain, just leans forward and presses their lips together, squeezing a hip joint and he whines right into Mirage's mouth.


	44. A Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper has something for Mirage, after the latter comes back from a mission.

Cliffjumper was sitting on the couch when Mirage came in, sitting and _very determinedly_ reading a datapad. Mirage was a bit surprised Cliffjumper was here at all in fact, because while he'd been due back around now after the survey/scout excursion to Kalis, he hadn't gotten a ping or anything.

"Cliffjumper---"

"Bed first," Cliffjumper muttered and slid down in his seat a little, shoulders hiking up. Confused as to what the mech meant - that wasn't the tone Cliffjumper sometimes managed when he let go of his shyness and embarrassment and tried his best to be seductive (something he wasn't half bad at, as long as he kept it short) - Mirage turned to the berth, and the teasing words he'd intended to say died before he'd engaged his vocaliser.

There was something not-so-neatly, but certainly completely, wrapped up on the berth. The thin metal sheets had been bent around whatever it was, and Mirage crossed the room slowly, walking around the seating area to the berth and stopping beside it. 

Not that it really was a berth, seeing as it was just a larger couch as parts of the old Council Pavilions were surprisingly well-kept and it'd been the best place to occupy until anything else was livable. So upon their return before more of _any_ settlement could be better restored, at least Autobot high command and the Ark-crew had settled there - Mirage sat down and picked the package up.

Looking up at Cliffjumper, who was now nearly hidden behind the back of the couch the way he was hunched up, Mirage smiled a little and started to fold the sheets of metal back.

"... Oh. Cliffjumper..."

Said minibot's EM field flickered fitfully in a bright show of blush at Mirage's tone but didn't say anything, just curled up even more. Black, slender fingers trailed the carefully carved and grown crystal formations, which glowed faintly, casting a warm, golden-rose tint over the black.

The Celestial Towers.

This tiny replica of his former home revealed the original pattern of the Towers, which had been cluttered enough to nearly completely hide it even before Mirage had been sparked. But here, it was easy to see the swooping pattern which formed the shape of the Matrix, plus two curious outliers... Outliers which were easily understood if one knew that it made the central sphere of the "Matrix" into Cybertron, with two bordering towers acting as the moons.

Carefully, reluctantly, Mirage put the little sculpture aside and one could have thought he was capable of teleporting, as fast as he crossed the room and hauled Cliffjumper up, smothering the embarrassed squawk in a kiss.


	45. Got the Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ark mission is waiting to launch, and there might be evidence of... interpersonal issues between two future crewmembers.
> 
> Bumblebee tries to figure out what Cliffjumper has against Mirage, *already*.

"So what're we doin' _out here_?" Cliffjumper waved a hand, indicating himself and Bee and the cracked ledge they were sitting on.

"What, don't like the view?" Bumblebee grinned and tipped the cube he held, angling his helm upwards. Reflexively, Cliffjumper did the same, taking in the darkening sky above them that allowed stars to peek faintly through the smog and the shimmering forcefield.

"It's a pretty good view, if ya ignore the depressin' parts, but I just get the feelin' you didn't want to go up here and drink our rations 'cause of the _view_." Nonetheless, Cliffjumper leaned back on one hand as he took a swallow of his dwindling energon. 

The view _was_ rather stunning; a wide-spread vista of the mostly-dark ruins of Iacon, a hesitantly-lit corridor of habitation leading away to the city's spaceport and the starkly lit shape of the huge ship housed there towering in the distance.

"Got me." Bumblebee shrugged, his easy smile dropping away for something a little more collected even if his pose was still relaxed and he kicked his legs briefly. "Just wondering what Mirage managed to do to you in the deca-cycle he's been here. It's just awkward because _you_ 're my friend, but I gotta work with _him_ , you know?"

Cliffjumper sputtered, vents giving a great huff of warm waste air as he glowered into the cube.

"He hasn't done anything."

Bumblebee was quiet for a full klik, and Cliffjumper _almost_ got to hope that would be it, that his friend would leave the whole thing be...

"Uh-huh. So _why_ don't you like him, CJ? Is it the noble thing?"

"H-hey, I _totally_ don't dislike him! By the _Matrix_ , Bee, can't a mech just---" Unable to finish, Cliffjumper waved his hands around, _almost_ spilling energon on himself. 

Cliffjumper knew that had been the wrong answer, because suddenly Bumblebee was _staring_ at him, bright optics narrowed. Whoever said Bumblebee was too sweet to be calculating didn't know the mech well, and he _should_ just have agreed that he didn't like Mirage.

That would at least have turned Bee towards trying to convince him to _not_ dislike the noble instead of... whatever was going through Bumblebee's processor right now.

"He's just annoying, okay? He's stuck-up and prissy and probably only joined us 'cause he _had to_ and his armour probably can't take even one good punch---"

"You like him."

"--Wh--- NO!"

Sputtering, engine tripping over itself along with his EM field flickering and optics briefly flaring, Cliffjumper twisted around in his seat, all geared up to say... _anything_ really. Anything to make Bumblebee take that embarrassing statement back and---

And he couldn't really say anything when their optics met. Bumblebee stared at him baldly and Cliffjumper finally just scowled, slowly hunching up and somehow almost making his back kibble into a hood instead of just jutting out from his back, level with his shoulders.

"... shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" Bumblebee's voice was bright and there was definitely laughter underneath his words, however.

"The slag you ain't! I just... he just--- It's _stupid_ OKAY?" The last word echoed all around the dilapidated angles and planes of the Autobot headquarters in Iacon, formerly the High Council Pavilions, and Cliffjumper winced. Then, with a growl, he surged to his feet, cube accidentally tumbling from his hands and off the edge, down into the deepening shadows beneath them. Cliffjumper would probably also have pitched over the edge if Bumblebee hadn't caught and steadied him, shaking his helm.

"Hey, Cliffjumper, it's _okay_. I'm not laughing _at you_ , okay?" Bee's insistent hands managed to get Cliffjumper to sit down again, though he was a stiff, glowering ball on the ledge. "Can't fault your taste, he _is_ good-looking, if you like the tall-and-slender look."

" _Bee_!" Cliffjumper hissed, but finally actually _looked_ at his friend, and the smile on Bumblebee's face slowly teased out a faint, hesitant smile from Cliffjumper, before he huffed. "Just... forget about it, okay? It's not like it _matters_."

"... Oh, CJ." Bee shook his helm, but didn't say anything, merely scooted closer so they could lean against each other, watching the sunlight die over Iacon and gilding the _Ark_ in pinks and oranges.


	46. Bathhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage will pull out his tricks and use them if he has to, to get his way.

"No. It's _stupid_." Cliffjumper finally put his feet down and the next few steps had Mirage continuing without him before the noble turned around. Cliffjumper crossed his arms and stubbornly stared at Mirage, who was eyeing him with an expression Cliffjumper recognised; slightly narrowed optics, sideways, nearly pouty twist to his lips.

He needed to---

"Please, Cliffjumper. For me?" 

It was a trap. He _knew_ it was a trap, but at the same time those suddenly-widened optics, the nearly glittering flicker to them and the faint hint of liquid sheen... 

"You'll like it, you know. _I_ certainly will." At the 'I' Mirage added a light hand against his chestplates, and Cliffjumper groaned.

" _Fine_." Stomping past Mirage, he pushed him out of the way as he passed him and went through the doors into the bath house first. He _was_ going to regret it, he just _knew it_.


	47. Height - or Lack of It II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This thing about *height* again...

Mostly, the height difference was an annoyance, something that just got in the way of everything else, so it felt like it was that they liked each other _in spite of_ it, not that it was a _part of why_ they were together. Especially when people couldn't keep their slagging vocalisers in neutral or Cliffjumper couldn't do what he wanted to - like a surprise kiss when there wasn't anyone to see.

Right now though, with Cliffjumper perched on Mirage's lap as the taller mech sat in a chair, friction and slight electrified heat as they kissed, the difference in height didn't matter and Cliffjumper could _maybe_ admit that, like this, having to stretch just a little and being unable to reach the ground, _added_ something rather than detract from it (like it also added something during interfacing)...

And then he was suddenly made aware that at least Mirage perhaps didn't mind their height... or _size_ difference, as Cliffjumper found (slightly too late) the hand he'd hand intertwined with Mirage's pushed behind his back, and his other hand teasingly pulled there and then there was one hand around both of his wrists and Mirage's other hand at the back of his helm, essentially trapping him.

"Nnh---" Trying to pull back did, of course, yield nothing but a tightening of the grip and a smirk curling around Mirage's lips, which he could _feel_ as Mirage leaned down a little more, forcing Cliffjumper to _lean back_ a little.

::Mirage! What the frag? Leggo.:: He wasn't really angry or feeling threatened - a little trapped, maybe, but basically having Mirage wrapped _around him_ , his engine humming away so close by...

::No, I don't think so. I just realised... I can do whatever I want,:: the low purr fairly thrummed over the comm as Mirage hummed into the kiss as well, and Cliffjumper squirmed as much from one as the other. He didn't have the _leverage_ to get his arms free which was annoying as Mirage was utterly infuriating and stroking his thumb along the gap of his hand and wrist, while still effortlessly trapping both hands still.

::Yeah? Frag _off_!:: Cliffjumper hissed over the comm, but pushed _into_ Mirage instead of away and he wasn't sure what to think of the slow burning charge that had flickered alight at Mirage's claim. ::So what're ya gonna _do_ then?::

A challenge.

The grin on Mirage's lips grew.


	48. The Space Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper doesn't like the way his feet dangles off the desk.

"Mirage I--- _can't fraggin' reach the floor_ like this!" Cliffjumped hissed, trying to stretch out as far as he could and angling his feet, but there was nothing but air below the tips of his bumpers. 

He was more upset about the fact that he didn't have floor underneath his feet than being tied to the desk. Not that he was sure why that was necessary either, as he tugged on the deceptively thin chains, trying to push away from the desk and slide down.

"I know. Try to relax, Cliffjumper." There was a hand sliding over the curves of his back kibble, then in under his back and down his waist, before that hand curled around a hip joint.

"Easy for _you_ to say---" he wasn't whining, no, not at all, but he _was_ shuddering slightly from the hand on his aft, thumb teasing down and in between his thighs.

Sure, Cliffjumper was rather sure he'd not regret this after they were done, but right now, legs dangling off the side of Mirage's hefty desk and having at least a hand's span of air still between the bumpers and the floor (he wasn't sure, since he couldn't see) and the cool, slightly buzzing squeeze of cuffs around his wrists, the arousal Mirage was teasing up was warring with unease.

Mirage wondered when Cliffjumper would figure out that he had the best overloads when he let himself _trust_ , despite... or in spite of, being unable to move or touch the ground. Not that he minded that Cliffjumper hadn't figured it out yet - it was always a delight to feel and see the moment when Cliffjumper stopped keeping himself on edge and just _let go_.


	49. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's better than being *inside* when it's raining *outside*?

It was a perfect day to not be outside, because there was a seriously _dreadful_ thunderstorm going on outside the partly-buried Ark. Not that it could be seen from _in here_ , but since he knew about it, Mirage was quietly grateful he didn't have patrol today _and_ that the Decepticons seemed to be playing nice too.

Since, patrol or not, if the Decepticons decided to attack somewhere, they'd all have to do theirs.

But for the moment it was calm and Mirage had to say he was extremely pleased with the pouf he'd managed to wrangle out of their resources and supplies.

It was huge and puffy, and while it was a bit too soft, it still held him up and accommodated armour to make a delightfully pleasant seat. In addition, there was a warm, humming pile seated in _his_ lap.

Cliffjumper was curled up, bent over the datapad he was reading with impressively single-minded attention - who would have thought _Cliffjumper_ would've liked classical noble adventure stories? But Mirage wouldn't tell on him.

Even if he wouldn't have wanted Cliffjumper angry at him, he wouldn't have. That would just be _gauche_. 

And especially, if his mini was angry at him, he wouldn't have this right now; warm, _dry_ room, perfect size and weight of minibot curled in his lap with his engine thrumming at a frequency that vibrated gently against his own armour like a surprisingly effective massage. 

He'd been reading something himself earlier, but he was too relaxed to continue.

"You've got more of this, right?"

Optics flickering, Mirage refocused and was treated to seeing Cliffjumper's helm bent back, looking up at him upside down. He smiled slowly.

"Datapads was some of the personal effects that's been the easiest to save, and further, bring onboard. So yes," Mirage added the last quickly, Cliffjumper frowning at him dangerously as the explanation didn't... say what he wanted.

Laughing quietly, he bent down and brushed his lips against the crest of the helm, then let Cliffjumper bend back over the datapad again, which let _him_ go back to almost recharging.

Nothing better for a rainy day.


	50. Wrestling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage doesn't understand what he's watching, but it's curiously... compelling.

The clang and clatter of metal striking metal was loud in the room, and the cries and cheers didn't make it any _less_ loud, and Mirage had to admit he was lost.

Cosmos and Beachcomber, both rather gentle and mild, were out there in the middle of the room on the thickly padded mesh mat and... Well, not beating the slag out of each other as some of the soldiers insisted their "training" was, but not performing any martial arts known to Cybertron _either_.

They were grabbing, clinging, wrenching and pulling at each other, and Mirage just _couldn't tell_ what the aim was. Cosmos threw Beachcomber to the floor to the cheer of the rest of the minibots in the room, and Mirage hid a wince at Cliffjumper's crow - he _was_ sitting right next to the red mech after all.

There was a muffled thump as Beachcomber met the mat and he squirmed and writhed while Brawn called out counts, but not for any reason Mirage could tell. And then, as the gathered minibots fell quiet one after the other, Beachcomber suddenly hooked a hand under the curve of Cosmos' chestplate and _yanked_ while he _rolled_ and they basically switched places - and then both Cosmos and Beachcomber were on their feet again, facing each other.

The room nearly _rattled_ from the excited noise, and Mirage wondered why he'd let himself be convinced to sit down. He'd just come in search of Cliffjumper to see what his mini was up to, not witness some arcane sort of... well, he wasn't sure. 

Sport?

"... Cliffjumper. Is this a... er, _lower class_ thing, or a---"

"Minibot thing? Yeah!" Cliffjumper finished for him, grinning wide but not looking at him, and the cry was as much an answer as it was a cheer when Beachcomber went down again and Brawn restarted the count.

Mirage wasn't sure why, and it was a bit silly because he'd seen far more... _obviously_ erotic displays in the Towers, but something in the simple, straightforward movements and all that close-up _grappling_ felt distinctly... out of place for this rowdy, exuberant room.

"So, what _is_ this about?" He didn't like asking, because that meant he was failing in his function and manners both, but he'd been thrown off balance since he got in here.

Beachcomber appeared to be unable to get up this time and Brawn called what apparently was a last count as Cosmos helped him up amid cheers. Cliffjumper turned to him with a grin that bordered on a smirk and his optics bright.

"Gets your engine goin' and gathers heat easily... and it's fun. Gonna wait?" Cliffjumper cocked his helm up at him, and Mirage was helpless to do anything but nod as Cliffjumper jumped up while Bumblebee stood up from his seat on the other end of the room. 

Mirage wondered, as the red and yellow minibots stalked closer to meet in the middle of the mat, if he'd miscalculated, because the idea of seeing _Cliffjumper_ participate... well, no, that might actually be... 

He sat down again just as the match started.


	51. Insults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage disapproves of Cliffjumper's swearing.
> 
> The only AU here (because there is one) is that I wanted to do femme!Cliffjumper and Mirage, so this uses female pronouns.

"What a _filthy_ mouth," Mirage muttered and didn't even glance down, easily _feeling_ the quick, huffy glare on her.

"Yeah, well. Suck exhaust," Cliffjumper hissed back and then promptly drowned said mouth in the cube. Mirage winced and wished she would at least use a _glass_ or something. They _did_ actually have them on the Ark!

No one ever used them, more the _travesty_.

"You know, your voice is far too _pleasant_ to be hurling around such invective about everybody and everything around here. Should clean it." Now she turned around in her seat, if just to be able to grace the mini with a blithe smile as Cliffjumper glared up at her, muttered something lost among burbling into the energon, huffed and put down the cube.

Mirage struck, not letting her silly mini say any _more_ filthy words, bending down and tilting her chin up (the two-fingered grip firm enough Cliffjumper had to give in) and kissed her.

And of course Cliffjumper _still_ managed to swear at her, but since it was all turned into delightful static playing on their tongues, Mirage forgave her that.


	52. Sick II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper's the one sick this time, and he's singularly recalcitrant about *being* sick.

"What _am_ I going to do with you?" Mirage had his arms crossed and somehow managed to block off enough of the berth that there'd be no chance of escape.

Though that might also have something to do with how blasted _slow_ he was at the moment. And his bad coordination. And the glitching sensory nodes that set things aching all over.

"Lemme go do what I want? 'M _bored_ , Mirage!" Cliffjumper would deny that he almost _whined_ , and he'd also deny that he widened his optics as much as he could and aimed that bright (or supposed to be, anyway) wide glowing stare at Mirage.

Mirage didn't seem very impressed, even if the corner of his mouth twitched once.

"You're liable to _shoot yourself_ at this point, Cliffjumper. What's wrong with taking a bit time off and _enjoying_ not having to do anything?" Kneeling down, Mirage untangled Cliffjumper's own crossed arms so he could hold the smaller hands in his own, thumbs stroking across the dull silver.

"'Cause I'm fraggin' slow and everything hurts and I can't even walk straight and _how_ 'm supposed to _enjoy that_?" There was a truly prize-worthy pout on Cliffjumper's faceplate by now and he hadn't even tried to yank his hands away, not even for show.

"You know, I always took such an opportunity to squeeze all the sympathy and care I could from my caregivers when down with a virus," Mirage said with a grin and pulled on his mini's hands so he could replace his thumbs with his lips.

Cliffjumper huffed, the dull glow of his optics nonetheless softening a little, though that _could_ just have been because he was tired, of course.

"Ya know, doesn't fraggin' _surprise me_ you'd be a brat 'bout that."

Mirage mostly huffed in pretend-offense to tease out the smile that was only barely pulling on Cliffjumper's lips.

"I'll have you know I haven't ever been a _brat_ ; it was well-deserved attention bestowed upon me by those who loved me! Which I'll more than happily pay back to _you_ if you just allow me to do so."

Cliffjumper grimaced, a soft, slow thing lacking any of his usual sharpness - and coordination, as he listed a little to the left before catching himself. And _finally_ Cliffjumper just pouted again instead of drawing back in frustration to stew in his own virus-laden processor.

" _Fine_. Just 'cause you _insist_."

And Mirage smiled and swept Cliffjumper up in his arms, intent on starting with giving the annoyed but only barely protesting mini a good cleaning; he hadn't had one since he fell ill well over a week ago, insisting on doing it himself and then not doing it at all when he _couldn't_.

"Thank you, brightspark."

"Yeah, yeah, _whatever_."

Regardless of the grumpy mutter in response, at the end of it Cliffjumper was a sleepy, loose-limbed lump in his arms, both clean and close enough to recharge to be less bothered by all the error messages and the pain the glitching sensor nodes were firing off.


	53. Choosing the right Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliffjumper, Bumblebee and Mirage playing an MMO.

"This is a _dumb game_ ," Cliffjumper hissed right before he slammed his hand against the table's surface - only _barely_ avoiding hitting the keyboard and making several people very upset about wasting resources.

Mirage opened his mouth but Bumblebee got there before him, telling him to go back to the character creator screen.

"Why don't you try the priest instead, CJ?"

Cliffjumper stared at his friend, then huffed angrily.

"What's _that_ gonna do? How's that gonna help me, at-slagging- _all_!?"

Mirage rolled his optics, unseen by both minibots. Cliffjumper was dear to him, but he seemed to completely lack the talents to play, and Bee was a veritable endless fount of patience.

And a _priest_? Were they even talking about (and to, in Bee's case) the same minibot? _Cliffjumper_? Did Bee want them to suffer more invectives, not to talk about _wipes_?

"Hey, just _try it_ , okay? And if nothing else, you'll be able to heal yourself, right?" Bee grinned cheerily, optics bright and tone encouraging. After a silent, engine-rumbling moment, Cliffjumper snorted... but did as Bumblebee suggested.

And to both Cliffjumper and Mirage's surprise, Cliffjumper was actually _good_ at playing healer. Well, as long as he wasn't allowed to solo, since then he went back to his usual behaviour; bum-rushing anything and everything. 

Playing with others, however, while he muttered and grumbled about it, Cliffjumper played the priest as it was meant to be.

::Why didn't you have him switch to a tank? I am rather convinced that would have suited him even better, truly.:: Not that Mirage necessarily wanted Cliffjumper to switch, but a tank seemed like it would fit Cliffjumper's tendency to try and draw fire on the battlefield and translate it into game terms.

::Well, _I_ didn't want to switch, and he's doing well, isn't he?:: Bumblebee didn't sound the least bit apologetic, and Mirage chuckled, earning a sharp glare from Cliffjumper before he smoothed it away by reaching out and pinching a horn.

::True, he is. I'm surprised, actually. But at least it helps us all, and he's stopped fouling the air with his language,:: Mirage said with a hum over the comm. and caught Bee's grin in the reflection of his screen.


	54. Bared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another ficlet belonging to darkverse, inspired by http://littlesparklight.tumblr.com/post/116767846049/i-have-two-versions-of-this-picture-and-this-is this art of mine here. :3

Delicate jewellery tinkled as it fell against metal and armour glass, and Cliffjumper couldn't swallow his growl. It was ignored, of course, but a hand was briefly put to rest against the side of his helm, squeezing, with a thumb stroking the full length of one side of the horn there before Mirage went back to what he was doing, implacable and pleased.

The filigree scrollwork was bad enough, but he'd have far and above preferred _that_ to what had come _after it_. The thin chains of jewellery resting in arcs over the tops of his feet weren't... too bad, he supposed, neither was the one that fell over his windshield. But those three weren't _all_ because there was then the light fall of similar chains over his hip joints. 

Nevermind that they hooked in between the inner join of joints and crotch plating, then went around sides and back to hook in at the inner joint _there_. That was bad enough, because that was an embarrassing spot for the stupid links of chain to be attached to, but with them draping of his hip joints, he was just... very, very _aware_ of them. And aware of how bare they were. Which had never bothered him before, but now that Mirage was choosing, with a smug smile and a gleam in his optics, to _emphasis_ it, Cliffjumper was flustered.

And angry.

About everything.

That wasn't new, however, but he still was distracted enough he squawked and jerked as his aft was smacked.

" _Stand still_ ," Mirage huffed, exasperated and fond in one, and Cliffjumper snarled and stood still. Not because he _wanted to_ , but because Mirage had _told him to_.

Thumbs stroked over pale silver and charged metal, following the curve of it, and Cliffjumper bit his lower lip.

He'd been _trying_ to think of the less offensive, less _unpleasant_ parts of what was going on, but it was hard when Mirage kept coming back to stroke the bared spark chamber.

Bared because there were two delicate chains hooking in at the corners of his chestplating and then inwards to hook into the corners of the opened plates that bared his spark chamber. That, in addition to the length of glowing rope that kept the vent tied up against his chestplating, meant he couldn't close anything up.

Tightening his hands into fists, Cliffjumper turned his helm away when Mirage finally leaned in, but he didn't seem to mind. Rather he just dropped a kiss in the corner of Cliffjumper's mouth and then up his cheek, sideways out to the vents and audio receptors in his helm.

"Open up, Cliffjumper."

"Wh--- Frag no!" He'd have punched him if he could, so instead he squirmed, took a step back - or would have, if Mirage hadn't clamped his hands down on his hips.

Not that denial helped, since the spark chamber had slid open, obeying the command even when Cliffjumper had protested.

Sparkling amber optics met blue, and Mirage smiled, slow and far too pleased. Cliffjumper looked away again, unable to handle the open... _lust_. Appreciation too, but the lust was all too clear. Had the situation been different, he'd still not have been able to handle _either of those things_ without feeling flustered, but right now it was just... too much _either way_ \---

"Nngh--!" Cliffjumper twisted at the flickering lance of _fire_ that suddenly went through him, unable to smother the noise that slipped out as Mirage had bent down and flicked his tongue into the bared white-blue energies. Mirage's thumbs were now stroking the sides of his crotch plating, chasing up static electricity and warmth.

"Open _up_ , Cliffjumper," Mirage murmured, glancing up at his mini as Cliffjumper twisted in his grip and the panel covering his interface _also_ slid aside. 

Cliffjumper scowled right into that frustrating, _terrible_ and smug expression, then immediately gasped again as Mirage slid his thumbs to slide over the depressed plugs and the ports, at the same time as he bent down to mouth over the swirling spark energies again.

"You're going to keep these open for as long as you're wearing this jewellery. Understand?" Mirage's voice had turned low and deep, thrumming with arousal, and Cliffjumper _almost_ managed to twist away (he'd have fallen if so, though), but Mirage was faster, letting go of his caress to curl his hands around bare hip joints and stabilise the minibot.

"You--- _Fragging glitch_!" Cliffjumper yelled and squirmed, trying but, of course, failing to close it all up again. He had to swallow down the next few curses and insults, not because he cared what sort of _punishment_ he got for it, but because they'd have come out garbled either way.

He was burning from the blush and rage both, but both were equally as _useless_.

"Perhaps, but you're beautiful like this," Mirage said slowly, squeezing one of the joints in his hands and letting go of the other, reaching back for the table behind him to pick up the last bit.

The flower crown of charge flowers buzzed against the metal of his helm, tickled with insistent charge against his horns, and Cliffjumper finally managed to push Mirage away, falling down onto the thick mesh mattress as he did so, and Mirage only smirked and followed after.


End file.
